Part 12 (1/2)

The first commencement exercises at the University took place in 1863.

It was a great event, an audience of about nine hundred or more, including many visitors from all parts of the Sound, Victoria, B. C., and Portland, Oregon, gathered in the hall of the old University, then quite new.

I was then nine years of age and had been trained to recite ”Barbara Frietchie,” it ”goes without the saying” that it was received with acclaim, as feeling ran high and the hearts of the people burned within them for the things that were transpiring in the South.

Still better were they pleased and much affected by the singing of ”Who Will Care for Mother Now,” by Annie May Adams, a lovely young girl of fifteen, with a pure, sympathetic, soprano voice and a touching simplicity of style.

How warm beat the hearts of the people on this far off sh.o.r.e, as at the seat of war, and even the children shouted, sang and wept in sympathy with those who shed their lifeblood for their country.

The singing of ”Red, White and Blue” by the children created great enthusiasm; war tableaux such as ”The Soldier's Farewell,” ”Who Goes There?” ”In Camp,” were well presented and received with enthusiastic applause, and whatever apology might have been made for the status of the school, there was none to be made for its patriotism.

Our teachers were Unionists without exception and we were taught many such things; ”Rally Round the Flag” was a favorite and up went every right hand and stamped hard every little foot as we sang ”Down With the Traitor and Up With the Stars” with perhaps more energy than music.

The children of my family, with those of A. A. Denny's, sometimes held ”Union Meetings;” at these were speeches made that were very intense, as we thought, from the top of a stump or barrel, each mounting in turn to declaim against slavery and the Confederacy, to p.r.o.nounce sentence of execution upon Jeff. Davis, Captain Semmes, et al. in a way to have made those worthies uneasy in their sleep. Every book, picture, story, indeed, every printed page concerning the war was eagerly scanned and I remember sitting by, through long talks of Grandfather John Denny with my father, to which I listened intently.

We finally burned Semmes in effigy to express our opinion of him and named the only poor, sour apple in our orchard for the Confederate president.

For a time there were two war vessels in the harbor, the ”Saranac” and ”Suwanee,” afterwards wrecked in Seymour Narrows. The Suwanee was overturned and sunk by the s.h.i.+fting of her heavy guns, but was finally raised. Both had fine bands that discoursed sweet music every evening.

We stood on the bank to listen, delighted to recognize our favorites, national airs and war songs, from ”Just Before the Battle, Mother” to ”Star Spangled Banner.”

Other beautiful music, from operas, perhaps, we enjoyed without comprehending, although we did understand the stirring strains with which we were so familiar.

In those days the itinerant M. E. ministers were often the guests of my parents and many were the good natured jokes concerning the fatalities among the yellow-legged chickens.

On one occasion a small daughter of the family, whose discretion had not developed with her hospitality, rushed excitedly into the sitting room where the minister was being entertained and said, ”Mother, which chicken shall I catch?” to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of all.

One of the reverend gentlemen declared that whenever he put in an appearance, the finest and fattest of the flock immediately lay down upon their backs with their feet in the air, as they knew some of them would have to appear on the festal board.

Like children everywhere we lavished our young affections on pets of many kinds. Among these were a family of kittens, one at least of which was considered superfluous. An Indian woman, who came to trade clams for potatoes, was given the little ”pish-pish,” as she called it, with which she seemed much pleased, carrying it away wrapped in her shawl.

Her camp was a mile away on the sh.o.r.e of Elliott Bay, from whence it returned through the thick woods, on the following day. Soon after she came to our door to exhibit numerous scratches on her hands and arms made by the ”mesachie pish-pish” (bad cat), as she now considered it. My mother healed her wounds by giving her some ”supalel” (bread) esteemed a luxury by the Indians, they seldom having it unless they bought a little flour and made ash-cake.

Now this same ash-cake deserves to rank with the southern cornpone or the western Johnny cake. Its flavor is sweet and nut-like, quite unlike that of bread baked in an ordinary oven.

The first Christmas tree was set up in our own house. It was not then a common American custom; we usually called out ”Christmas Gift,”

affecting to claim a present after the Southern ”Christmas Gif” of the darkies. One early Christmas, father brought in a young Douglas fir tree and mother hung various little gifts on its branches, among them, bright red Lady apples and sticks of candy; that was our very first Christmas tree. A few years afterward the whole village joined in loading a large tree with beautiful and costly articles, as times were good, fully one thousand dollars' worth was hung upon and heaped around it.

When the fourth time our family returned to the donation claim, now a part of the city of Seattle, we found a veritable paradise of flowers, field and forest.

The claim reached from Lake Union to Elliott Bay, about a mile and a half; a portion of it was rich meadow land covered with luxuriant gra.s.s and bordered with flowering shrubs, the fringe on the hem of the mighty evergreen forest covering the remainder.

Hundreds of birds of many kinds built their nests here and daily throughout the summer chanted their hymns of praise. Robins and wrens, song-sparrows and snow birds, thrushes and larks vied with each other in joyful song.

The western meadow larks wandered into this great valley, adding their rich flute-like voices to the feathered chorus.

Woodp.e.c.k.e.rs, yellow hammers and sap-suckers, beat their brave tattoo on the dead tree trunks and owls uttered their cries from the thick branches at night. Riding to church one Sunday morning we beheld seven little owls sitting in a row on the dead limb of a tall fir tree, about fourteen feet from the ground. Winking and blinking they sat, silently staring as we pa.s.sed by.

Rare birds peculiar to the western coast, the rufous-backed hummingbird, like a living coal of fire, and the bush-t.i.tmouse which builds a curious hanging nest, also visited this natural park.

The road we children traveled from this place led through heavy forest and the year of the drouth (1868) a great fire raged; we lost but little time on this account; it had not ceased before we ran past the tall firs and cedars flaming far above our heads.