XIV. THE AMERICAN MEDITERRANEAN.

A STRANGE FACT—HISTORY OF TACOMA—ADVANTAGES OF ITS SITUATION—NAVIGATION—FORESTS AND SAW-MILLS—SPLENDORS AND DISADVANTAGES OF FOREST FIRES—COAL-FIELDS OF WASHINGTON—SCENIC FEATURES OF PUGET SOUND—OLYMPIA—SEATTLE SINCE THE FIRE—THE OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS—PORT TOWNSEND.

Students of American history, a few generations hence, will find it difficult to believe that the magnificent Puget Sound region in Washington, which offers such unequalled advantages for navigation, commerce, lumbering, agriculture, and mining, should have remained almost entirely undeveloped till the last quarter of the nineteenth century, almost a hundred years after the exploration of this fine and tortuous inland sea by Vancouver. Indeed, it seems probable that the end of this century might have been reached without a general appreciation of the manifold attractions of Western and Eastern Washington had it not been for the building of the Northern Pacific Railroad, which has been practically the creator of this State. In the few years since its completion it has been demonstrated that if the United States authorities had carried out the intention held at one time of ceding this territory to England, as an expression of good will, they would have given away a State as rich in natural resources as New York or Pennsylvania, either of which it exceeds in dimensions by one-half.

No spot in Washington has been so literally created by the Northern Pacific Railroad as “the City of Destiny,” Tacoma; for when the decision was announced in 1873 of making this spot the terminus of the new transcontinental railroad, the old village of Tacoma had only three hundred inhabitants, and on the site of New Tacoma there was nothing but a dilapidated log cabin. In 1886 the post-office business at Tacoma amounted to $9,040, and in 1889 to $32,446; and it is assumed that these dollars in each case represent an equal number of inhabitants.

The selection of Tacoma seems to have been determined by considerations similar to those which made Portland the “City of Destiny” in Oregon. As Portland was built at the highest point on the Willamette River where ocean vessels can go with ease and safety, so Tacoma has been located at the most convenient southern branch of Puget Sound which ocean vessels can reach at all times, independent of the tide. The State capital lies further south still, it is true, but its arm of the Sound is so much affected by the tide that a wharf had to be built projecting almost a mile into the bay. The Tacoma harbor, on the other hand, has forty to seventy-five fathoms of water, and shippers are inclined to growl that it is too deep, which makes anchoring at some places inconvenient. It is on this fine harbor, as much as on the fact of its being the terminus of the Northern Pacific Railroad, that Tacoma bases its hope of taking a large part of the exceedingly profitable Oriental trade from the British, and also from the San Franciscans. Tacoma is about three hundred miles nearer to Canton than San Francisco, which makes a day’s difference in its favor each way. Among the chief articles imported by the Asiatics in return for their teas and silks, are flour, canned goods, and lumber, all of which, and especially the last, Tacoma is eminently qualified to provide. Seventeen years ago its site was a dense forest, and dense forests still cover the greater part of the Puget Sound region and Western Washington, and will for centuries to come, even at the present rate of wholesale destruction. It has been estimated that the forest district of the State includes 175,000,000,000 feet of lumber.

What threatens to exterminate the superb forests of Washington and Oregon is not so much the lumberman’s axe as the forest fires, which, instead of diminishing year by year, seem to increase in frequency and extent. They are caused by camp-fires left burning by careless hunters or Indians, or by sparks from railway engines. But even when there are no extensive fires originating in this way, the summer air in Washington and Oregon is odorous, pungent to the eyes, and opaque from the innumerable clearings, or places where farmers burn down their dense timber to secure land for the plough. A volcano in full activity could hardly be a more brilliant and thrilling sight than the dazzling nocturnal splendor of these fires—the united brilliancy of scores or hundreds of blazing fir-trees, some lying prostrate in confused groups, others, several hundred feet high, standing in solemn array, like condemned criminals, until the flames rush up to their tops and bring them down too, or else leave them standing as blackened, ghastly trunks. These transitory fireworks, however, do not compensate settlers in the long run for the loss of so much valuable timber, or tourists for missing sight of the snow-mountains. I have often seen the sun here day after day looking like a full red moon, and the air is for weeks so densely filled with smoke that the eyes become inflamed. Indeed, unless there has been a shower, tourists have little chance of seeing Mts. Hood or Tacoma in July or August. Owing to Tacoma’s destiny of becoming the American Interlaken, this is a matter of some importance; but little can be done to remedy the evil until the national government can be induced to spend some of the surplus in the treasury on measures for the protection of our Northern forests,—the envy of the whole civilized world.

The lumber business is still the most important industry in Tacoma, and will probably long remain so. In 1873 there was one saw-mill on the premises, and now there are seventeen, employing nearly fifteen hundred men, and with a combined capacity for turning out more than a million and a quarter feet a day. It is interesting to see these mills at work. There is one at which the steamers on the way to Olympia stop to take in water, so that passengers have time to watch the chain which, like a moving cable, carries down the débris of the timber in a flume-like trough, high in the air, and throws it down on a pile which is kept burning constantly. One cannot suppress the thought what a boon the fuel thus wasted would be to the poor in our Eastern cities. Vessels are always seen loading to carry the available part of the timber to all parts of the world.

But although lumber is the staple of Tacoma’s trade, the city’s prosperous growth would hardly be arrested by a decline in this business; for its importance as a centre for the exportation of wheat and coal will grow much more rapidly than the forests diminish. As the timber is cleared away, the farmers can take possession of the soil, which yields heavy crops of the best wheat. Puget Sound extends from north to south about one hundred and twenty miles, and has a shore-line of almost sixteen hundred miles, much of which is tide land; and on these tide lands grain yields the fabulous amount of over a hundred bushels to the acre. Eastern Washington, also, which differs so widely in soil and climate from the western half of the State, has been found excellently adapted for grain and fruit raising, with the help of irrigation, preparations for the use of which are now being made on a vast scale. All these products will of course seek a market via the Puget Sound cities.

I saw Tacoma in 1887, and again in 1889 and 1890, and the growth of the city in this short time was such that in both cases I hardly recognized the place. It seemed as if some fairy had visited the town and changed every black stump into a four-story brick building by touching it with her wand. The cause of this sudden “spurt” was the completion of the Cascade Division of the Northern Pacific Railroad, and the Stampede Tunnel, which opened up the vast coal-fields along this road, and made the Pacific Coast cities independent of Pennsylvania coal. The export of coal to California ports is already second in importance to Tacoma’s lumber trade, and the business is as yet in its infancy. Bituminous or soft coal is at present chiefly mined, but it is said that “near the foot of Mt. Tacoma is the best anthracite mine in the world, the product running ninety-eight per cent of fixed carbon,” the smallest vein being four feet through. “This will be opened up very shortly, as soon as a railway can be built through to tap it.” Such a railway would also prove a great boon to tourists. The words just quoted are from the Oregonian, which by the way is still read by almost as many Washingtonians as Oregonians,—a reminiscence of the time when Portland was the metropolis of both the States which formed old Oregon.

As this chapter is intended to be devoted to the scenic rather than the commercial aspects of Puget Sound, I cannot give any more space to the latter. It is worthy of note that the Tacomans, however enthusiastic they may be in regard to their business prospects, never fail to appreciate also the æsthetic and climatic advantages of their location. Excessive summer heat is as unknown as excessive winter cold, the thermometer having been known to keep within the limits of 30° and 90° for six successive years; and though it rains a good deal in winter, the rain is not depressing through a sultry atmospheric condition. As for the site of Tacoma, it has the double advantage of being not only picturesque in itself, as seen from the bay, but of affording at the same time a superb bay and mountain view from the residences. The city is built on sloping ground and terraces rising one behind the other; and as in San Francisco, the business streets are on level ground, and the residence streets run up hill; but we read that “the engineer declared when he entered upon his work that the streets should have such easy grades that a horse with buggy and driver might go from one point to another in a lively trot, and he carried his point.” The greater part of the city having been at first in the hands of the Northern Pacific Railroad, the directors were able to lay out the town on principles of good taste, which was done by putting the matter in the hands of an expert landscape gardener. The streets in consequence are all from eighty to one hundred feet wide, and nearly seventeen hundred acres of land have been put aside for parks. The future hundreds of thousands of Tacoma will ever be grateful for these sanitary and far-seeing provisions. For, however salubrious the climate may be, a large city always needs breathing-spaces and wide streets. Until recently Tacoma was behind Seattle in the matter of street-car facilities, but within a year cable-cars have been built, and almost twenty miles of electric street railroads, which have solved the problem of going up hill at a grade of fourteen feet to one hundred, and enable the merchants, in rainy weather, to reach their elevated residences in comfort. Concerning these residences I may add that almost all of them command a superb view of that compound octopus-like arm of the Pacific known as Puget Sound, and of the incomparable Mt. Tacoma.

To get a perfect impression of Mt. Tacoma, however, we must board the steamer going either to Olympia or to Seattle and Victoria. Both these trips will be taken by every tourist who is wise. In certain hazy conditions of the atmosphere Mt. Tacoma, as viewed from the bay, presents a most unique and mysterious appearance. The haze completely conceals the broad base and the wooded part of the mountain, leaving only the vast cone in sight, like a floating island of snow on an illimitable ocean of mist. As the steamer leaves the harbor for Olympia, we have this mountain on one side, and on the other side rows of fine villas on the crest of the steep hill-side, with their feet, as it were, dangling over the precipice, and looking as if the slightest earthquake shock would make them tumble into the harbor. But there are no earthquakes in Washington and Oregon, though their volcanoes are not quite cold yet; nor are there any other violent disturbances, such as cyclones and tornadoes. Hence the waters of Puget Sound are always safe and usually unruffled, so that sea-sickness need not be dreaded. That part of the Sound which lies between Tacoma and Olympia is not so straight and wide as the stretch between Tacoma and Seattle, but winds about like a river and embraces between its curves many large and small islands, bays, promontories, and inlets where rivers and creeks add their sweet water to the briny substance of the Sound. The comparison to an octopus, which I ventured to use a moment ago, bold and fantastic as it may seem, describes the shape of this southwestern part of the Sound remarkably well, as it here sends out its feelers in every direction, one of them almost reaching an arm of Hood’s Canal. What a paradise for yachting and picnic parties this Sound will be when Tacoma and Seattle have reached the size of San Francisco, and when Washington will hold two or three million inhabitants—which it can without the least crowding, or settling on poor lands!

In some places, where earthslides have occurred, the banks of the Sound are steep and palisade-like, but usually the forest trees come right up to the edge of the water. In this part of the Sound the scenery preserves its primeval aspect, human habitation being rare; but occasionally an Indian hut may be seen, with a family group consisting of a “warrior” taking his ease on his back, while his wife chops the wood wherewith to cook his dinner, and his mother mends his clothes. These dusky squaws have secured the right of doing masculine work which so many of their white sisters are now clamoring for; and they have husbands, too, which the latter usually have not: and yet they are not happy.

Only one town of any significance—Steilacoom—is seen on this route. Not far from it is one of the most beautiful scenic points on the Sound—a place where it widens out amid the islands in such a way that it seems the meeting-place of five large rivers, resembling a central square in a city into which as many streets lead. A few hours more, and we come to the capital of the State. Like the capital of Oregon, Olympia has not kept pace in growth with some other cities in the State, its population being about the same as that of Salem—five or six thousand; and if it is ever to become a commercial centre, it will have to rely on railways rather than on navigation, because its harbor is too much affected by the tide. The mile-long pier which stands on the sand in low tide has been the subject of many cruel jokes in rival towns. But Olympia is considered a quiet and pleasant place to reside in; and while Tacoma arrogates the title of “City of Destiny,” and Seattle that of “Queen City of the Sound,” Olympia likes to be called the “City of Homes.” The houses are surrounded by gardens in which flowers bloom every month in the year and roses run riot, and from elevated points near by the scenic outlook embraces half-a-dozen snow-peaks, including those of the Olympic range.

It is on the route from Tacoma to Seattle and Victoria, however, that the Olympic range shows to best advantage. The Sound here is, as I have said, less winding and less puzzling to all but the pilot, but there are the same endless changes and surprises in the watery vista. At one place the channel is no wider than a river, so that one can count the pebbles on the shore; at another it widens out into a spacious lake dotted with islands; and in the upper part it expands so much that land for awhile is out of sight altogether, and we seem to be on the ocean. Here the water is not littered with the débris of saw-mills, as in many places below, but seals may still be encountered basking on logs in the sunshine. It must be admitted that the immediate bank-scenery of Puget Sound nowhere equals in grandeur and interest that of the Middle Columbia River; but the background of snow-mountains is even grander: the scenic frame is here more interesting than the picture itself. Tacoma, St. Helens, and Adams are to be seen, and just as we enter the bay of Seattle we catch our first glimpse of Mt. Baker,—another one of the North Pacific extinct volcanic snow-cones, eleven thousand feet in height. From the hill above Seattle a much more complete view of this peak, which stands like a sentinel just this side of the British boundary, is afforded; and here, too, the Olympic range shows to best advantage.

Unlike the other mountains of the Pacific Northwest, the dozen or more peaks which make up the Olympic range are not isolated volcanic cones, but form a range of jagged peaks connected below. They are covered with snow the greater part of the year, and rise in the two highest peaks, Mts. Olympus and Constance, to a height of 8150 and 7770 feet respectively. It is an odd fact that until a few months ago the region enclosed by this range, though appearing within stone’s-throw of Seattle’s thirty thousand inhabitants, was almost as unknown as parts of Africa before Stanley. A few trappers and prospectors for minerals had made spasmodic efforts to cross the mountain barriers, and hence arose rumors of the existence in this wilderness of Indians who had never seen a white man, of beautiful lakes full of fish, fine valleys suited for grazing and agriculture, gold, silver, iron, and lead ores, and bears and elks enough to make this a sportsman’s paradise. But nothing definite was known until last June, when two parties that had gone out in the autumn returned in a deplorable condition, and reported on the correctness of the rumors. One of these parties consisted of Ex-Lieutenant-Governor Gilman of Minnesota and his son, and the other was sent out by the Seattle Press. Thus a new and valuable territory has been added to the new State.

In writing about Puget Sound it is difficult to get the mind away from the mountains, but I will only add that as the steamer enters Elliott Bay we get a most picturesque view of Seattle, framed in by Mt. Baker on the left, and Mt. Tacoma (here always called Mt. Rainier, of course) on the right; and that the view of the latter peak is quite as fine as at Tacoma. Like Tacoma, Seattle is built on the side of a hill sloping down to the water, and the harbor is excellent, affording room for several miles of wharfage. The business streets are again (as in almost all cities of the Pacific Coast) the only ones on level ground, while the residence streets run at right angles to them up hill. In one respect Seattle is perhaps the most modern of all American cities, as there is not a single horse-car line in the town, their place being taken by cable and electric lines, which do the work much better, quicker, and without cruelty to animals, of which all horse-car companies are inevitably guilty.

The first time I saw Seattle was a few weeks after the great fire in 1889 which consumed the entire business section of the city, with the wharves, and entailed a loss of eight to ten millions on its twenty thousand inhabitants. It was a most curious sight,—a city of tents built on the charred ruins of the former city, on the site of which it had literally grown up in a day, like a bed of mushrooms. Hotels consisted of large tents with the office in front, cots behind, and the kitchen and dining-room in other tents. Druggists, barbers, dry-goods dealers, grocers, etc., all had their business in tents; and as a sufficient number of these could not be obtained immediately, one could see here and there a “happy family,” consisting, say, of a jeweller, milliner, and real-estate dealer, all in one tent. But the oddest sight I came across was a large tent filled with miscellaneous goods, displayed on improvised benches, and outside the tent was this notice in large letters: “Positively No Goods at Retail.”

It is possible that the reporters overdrew matters somewhat (contrary to their natural propensity) when they wrote of a theatrical manager who, when he saw his building on fire, forthwith rushed to an architect for plans for a new one; of a merchant who telegraphed for iron for a new store when he saw the flames had taken hold of his old one; and of wagons unloading stone for the foundations of a new building while the hose was still playing on the débris of the old one: but like an exaggerated perspective in a picture, such stories, after all, only show the situation in a true light, since the energy, pluck, and hopefulness shown by the Seattleites on this occasion have never been paralleled. When the anniversary of the fire was celebrated, on June 6, 1890, it was stated that during the year two hundred and sixty-five new buildings had been put up, together with sixty new wharves, with a frontage of over two miles—all of which, with other improvements, involved the expenditure of almost twelve million dollars. Sixty blocks, or one hundred and twenty acres, had been consumed, and in rebuilding this portion the streets have been made wider and straighter, and the buildings are of much better material and higher than formerly. The old ones would have been torn down anyway in a few years, so that, after all, the fire proved a blessing in disguise to the community as a whole. On re-visiting Seattle in June, I found that the new buildings were not in such an advanced stage as the newspaper accounts had led one to fancy; but there was no mistake about their being there, and their metropolitan dimensions, and their stone and iron constitution. The air was hideous with the noise of stone-cutters and carpenters, and the sidewalks were impassable for the piles of bricks and lumber. There were also a few direct traces of the fire in piles of charred timber, and in a few scattered tents where groceries, clothing, etc., were still being sold, the owners having probably lost too much to be able to rebuild at once.

Seattle enjoys almost exactly the same advantages as Tacoma regarding scenery, climate, shipping, coal, and lumber, and further details can therefore be dispensed with. Both these cities doubtless have a great future before them, and there is no ground for the fierce jealousy between them. But if the Seattleites do not wish to alienate the sympathies of tourists, they should cease naming the glorious Mt. Tacoma after an obscure English lord when we have such a beautiful American name for it.

Beyond Seattle the Sound widens out, and forty-seven miles to the north we come to the last of our cities this side of Alaska,—Port Townsend, the United States customs stations, at which all vessels that enter or leave the Sound have to report. It has most of the advantages of other Sound cities, and a population at present of five thousand. In the number of customs entries, Port Townsend claims to be next to New York. The climatic vagaries produced on the Pacific Coast by the “Chinook” wind, which comes from the Japan Current, are curiously illustrated by the rainfall at this city. As a general thing, the rainfall on the Pacific Coast may be said to increase steadily from San Diego’s ten inches to Sitka’s one hundred and eight. But, oddly enough, there is less rain in the Puget Sound region than in Oregon, the “web-foot” State. Tacoma has forty inches, and Port Townsend only sixteen. Similarly, it is observed that less rain falls in Vancouver’s Island than in British Columbia in general. But when he gets into Alaska, the tourist is fortunate if he comes upon a rainless week even in summer; and in rainy weather its scenic wonders can only be half appreciated. It seems, therefore, as if Puget Sound had been placed where it is as a sample of Alaskan scenery and inland coast navigation; and a most excellent sample it is, for it is only when we get up as far as Sitka that the Alaskan salt-water river boasts of snow-peaks comparable to Mts. Tacoma, Adams, Baker, St. Helens, and Hood, which adorn Puget Sound.