Part 27 (1/2)
She was so thoroughly in earnest that the older children refrained from laughing at what some might have thought unnecessary solemnity.
Madge had her share of adventures, too; one dark night she came near drowning in Lake Was.h.i.+ngton. Having visited the Newcastle coal mines with a small party of friends and returned to the lake sh.o.r.e, they were on the wharf ready to go on board the steamer. In some manner, perhaps from inadequate lighting, she stepped backward and fell into the water some distance below. The water was perhaps forty feet deep, the mud unknown. Several men called for ”A rope! A rope!” but not a rope could they lay their hands on. After what seemed an age to her, a lantern flashed into the darkness and a long pole held by seven men was held down to her; she grasped it firmly and, as she afterward said, felt as if she could climb to the moon with its a.s.sistance--and was safely drawn up, taken to a miner's cottage, where a kind-hearted woman dressed her in dry clothing. She reached home none the worse for her narrow escape.
Her nerves were nerves of steel; she seldom exhibited a shadow of fear and seemed of a spirit to undertake any daring feat. To dare the darkness, climb declivities, explore recesses, seemed pleasures to her courageous nature. At Snoqualmie Falls, in the Archipelago de Haro, in the Jupiter Hills of the Olympic Range, she climbed up and down the steep gorges with the agility of the chamois or our own mountain goat.
The forest, the mountain, the seash.o.r.e yielded their charm to her, each gave their messages. In a collection which she culled from many sources, ranging from sparkling gayety to profound seriousness, occur these words:
”I saw the long line of the vacant sh.o.r.e The sea-weed and the sh.e.l.ls upon the sand And the brown rocks left bare on every hand As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
Then heard I more distinctly than before, The ocean breathe and its great breast expand, And hurrying came on the defenseless land, The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar; All thought and feeling and desire, I said Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me They swept again from their deep ocean bed, And in a tumult of delight and strong As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me.”
It must have been that ”Bird and bee and blossom taught her Love's spell to know,” and then she went away to the ”land where Love itself had birth.”
CHAPTER Vb.
LIKE A FOREST FLOWER.
ANNA LOUISA DENNY.
Anna was the fourth daughter of D. T. and Louisa Boren Denny. In infancy she showed a marked talent for music, signifying by her eyes, head and hands her approval of certain tunes, preferring them to all others.
Before she was able to frame words she could sing tunes. When a young girl her memory for musical tones was marvelous, enabling her to reproduce difficult strains while yet unable to read the notes.
Possessed of a pure, high, flexible soprano voice, her singing was a delight to her friends. Upon hearing famous singers render favorite airs, her pleasure shone from every feature, although her comments were few. On the long summer camping expeditions of the family, the music books went along with her brothers' cornets, possibly her own flute, and many a happy hour was spent as we drove leisurely along past the tall, dark evergreens, or floated on the silvery waters of the Sound, with perhaps a book of duets open before us, singing sweet songs of bird, blossom and pine tree.
While the other daughters were small and delicately formed, Anna grew up to be a tall, statuesque woman of a truly n.o.ble appearance, with a fair face, a high white forehead crowned by ma.s.ses of brown hair, and a countenance mirthful, sunny, serious, but seldom stern.
A certain draped marble statue in the Metropolitan Museum in New York bears a striking resemblance to Anna, but is not of so n.o.ble a type.
Childhood in the wild Northwest braved many dangers both seen and unseen.
While returning late one summer night through the deep forest to our home after having attended a concert in which the children had taken part, Anna, then a little girl of perhaps seven or eight years, had a narrow escape from some wild beast, either a cougar or wildcat. Her mother, who was leading her a little behind the others, said that something grabbed at her and disappeared instantly in the thick undergrowth; grasping her hand more firmly she started to run and the little party, thoroughly frightened, fairly flew along the road toward home.
In this north country it is never really dark on a cloudless summer night, but the heavy forests enshroud the roads and trails in a deep twilight.
Anna, like her sister Madge, was a daring rider and they often went together on long trips through the forest. At one time each was mounted on a lively Indian pony, both of which doubtless had seen strange things and enjoyed many exciting experiences, but were supposed to be quite lamblike and docile. Some reminiscence must have crossed their equine minds, and they apparently challenged each other to a race, so race they must and race they did at a lightning speed on the home run.
They came flying up the lane to the house (the homestead on Lake Union) in a succession of leaps that would have made Pegasus envious had he been ”thar or tharabouts.” Their riders stuck on like c.o.c.kleburrs until they reached the gate, when a sudden stop threw Anna to the ground, but she escaped injury, the only damage being a wrecked riding habit.
Anna made no pretension to great learning, yet possessed a well-balanced and cultivated mind. With no ado of great effort she stood first in her cla.s.s.
At a notable celebration of Decoration Day in Seattle, she was chosen to walk beside the teacher at the head of the school procession; both were tall, handsome young women, carrying the school banner bearing the motto, ”Right, then Onward.”
It was to this school, which bore his own name, that her father presented a beautiful piano as a memorial of her; it bears the words, from her own lips, ”I believe in Jesus,” in gold letters across the front.