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From the Prairie to Puget Sound
By O.B. Iverson (Volume XVI: Page 91)

By far the larger number of Norwegians in western Washington have settled in such principal cities and towns and their environs as Bellingham, Mount Vernon, Everett, Seattle, Tacoma, Aberdeen, and Hoquiam. Although in the minority, they have contributed generally to the growth and development of these centers as doctors, engineers, architects, building contractors, manufacturers, fishery entrepreneurs, business and financial leaders, educators, and politicians, and as skilled and semi-skilled workers in practically every trade and occupation, from logger and carpenter to fisherman and farmer. Here they have founded and fostered numerous Norwegian organizations, such as churches, fraternal lodges, singing, dramatic, and debating societies, schools, and newspapers, by means of which they have preserved a measure of their cultural heritage.

In certain areas of western Washington, however, particularly along the inland waters of Puget Sound, there have been such concentrations of Norwegian settlers that the towns and communities have become typically, if not predominantly Norwegian. We recognize, among others, the Stillaguamish flats, near Stanwood, Snohomish County, and the northern part of the Kitsap Peninsula, near Poulsbo, Kitsap County, as characteristically Norwegian settlements. The Stillaguamish fiats are about fifty miles up the sound from Seattle, and to this area O. B. Iverson came in search of land, in the late summer of 1875, fresh from the Dakota prairie and the grasshopper plague of 1874. His story is interesting for the impact the Puget Sound country made upon this prairie dweller and for the painstaking manner in which he explored the land before choosing a location, not to mention the descriptive material he gathered before plunging into the wilderness. He was one of the very first Norwegians to settle in an area that became predominantly Norwegian, and he induced many friends and relatives, as well as others, to go to the Stillaguamish.

The material that is reprinted here represents roughly one half of what was contained in seven articles that Iverson published in the Stanwood News (now the Twin City News) of Stanwood, Snohomish County, Washington, on October 8 and 22, November 5 and 19, December 3 and 10, 1920, and January 6, 1921, under the general title. "Experiences and Observations on Two Continents." In 1874 Iverson, as a commissioner of immigration, visited his boyhood home in Ulvik, Hardanger, Norway, and induced several of his friends and relatives to go to the Middle West. His account tells of the journey from New York to Dakota Territory in 1874 with the immigrants he brought from Norway, and of his trip to Puget Sound via California in 1875. The articles have been condensed in order to emphasize the Puget Sound experiences and to eliminate what is now of purely local interest. Except for one emendation, only a few minor editorial changes have been made in the text. All alterations have been indicated except corrections in punctuation and paragraphing, and obvious typographical errors.

Iverson's articles, which were written for local consumption, omitted the details of his own life. He was born September 14, 1845, on the estate Borsheim, Ulvik, Hardanger, and twelve years later went with his parents to Big Canoe, Winneshiek County, Iowa. In September, 1862, he enlisted in Company D, Sixth Iowa Cavalry, and did Indian patrol duty in the Dakotas and Montana until he was mustered out in September, 1865. The following year he married Maria Danielson and began farming in Big Canoe. They had fourteen children, of whom only seven were alive in 1906. Hailed out the first year, he journeyed 300 miles west by ox team to homestead on land where East Sioux Falls, South Dakota, now stands. He assisted in organizing Minnehaha County in 1869, was elected to the territorial legislature for the term 1869-70, served as the first treasurer and probate judge of the county, and was appointed clerk of the United States district court. In Sioux Falls Iverson farmed, built and operated a sawmill, burned lime, practiced law, surveyed government land, held court, and collected taxes.

In 1876-77, after Iverson settled on Puget Sound, he and E. C. Ferguson represented Snohomish County, Washington, in the territorial legislature. He was in business in Olympia from 1882 to 1884 and then went to Whatcom County, where he engaged in surveying and engineering work for the government, railroads, and private individuals. In 1891 he moved to Seattle, and the next two years served as draftsman in the United States surveyor general's office in Olympia, after which he was for two years superintendent of the Queen City Mining Company. For a time he was in Stanwood, and again in 1899 he resumed his duties as draftsman at Olympia, a position he held until 1912. He died in 1940 in Olympia at the age of ninety-four. {1}

FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF THE PACIFIC COAST {2}
[Stanwood News (Stanwood, Washington), October 8, 1920.]

In August [1874] a large grasshopper swarm lit on the country, too late to do much damage that year, but they laid eggs, and we knew what that meant to the following crop. There was a general panic and many of those that could leave, did so, often leaving valuable improvements. I knew one man that traded 160 acres of the finest land, 100 acres plowed, and at least $500 worth of buildings for a yoke of steers and a cow. {3}

I had not entirely lost faith in the country. I knew the grasshopper plague would pass, but it did not suit me. There was too much climate, 110 degrees plus in summer and 40 degrees minus in the winter, [which] did not agree with me, and still less with my wife, and I had come to the conclusion that ii I wanted to keep her I would have to find a different climate. I opened correspondence with the governor of Washington, and he sent me printed matter, descriptive of the territory and the climate. I showed this literature to my friends, Leque and Christenson, and we agreed that I should go to the Pacific coast, spy out the land, and report if I found the land and conditions as good as described. {4}

Early in February I started for the Pacific coast. Before leaving I deeded all my land and other property to my wife so that she could dispose of it without me in case I should choose not to return, which both of us hoped would be the case. I did not leave my Dakota home altogether without regret. It is really the finest land and location I have seen east of the Rocky mountains and all my people, and many other friends were there, and I had prospered. Future prospects were even better. But I knew that the climate was slowly killing my wife, and that settled it.

I packed my instruments, some books, clothes, and tools, in my leather steamer trunk, which had a multitude of labels from my European trip. I filled a large telescope case with provisions for the trip (there were no Pullmans or dining cars). In Sioux City I bought a new Winchester rifle and a good supply of ammunition, and took the train for Omaha. I had letters to Mr. Clark, superintendent of the Union Pacific, and went to his office in Omaha to see about transportation. He said he was sorry he could not give me a sleeping car as all he had were in use on the road and there was none for this train, but he would let me have one of the best day cars and give me control of it, and only allow one man to each seat. He advised me to get a board and a couple of sticks and two men could, with this, make a passable bed on two seats. He called up the conductor of the train and instructed him. At the depot I had no trouble to fill my car with congenial company, and the week's trip from Omaha to San Francisco was quite enjoyable.

My bunkie, whose name was Henry, was a Puget Sounder, and was going home. He knew San Francisco and we went to the Overland hotel. I had a draft on a San Francisco bank, and a letter to the president, from my banker at Sioux Falls. I called on the banker in his private office and delivered the letter, which I found stated that I was a U. S. government surveyor and ex-commissioner of immigration, and that my business on the Pacific coast was to look up locations for settlers. Also that my word was good for any amount.

In the office was an elderly gentleman to whom the banker introduced me. His name was Sayword and he invited me to go to his house with him, and he would give me some valuable information. He lived in a palace, and he tried to fill me with California wine. He told me that he raised, made, and shipped shiploads of wine to France, and had it bottled and shipped to New York as French champagne. He told me he owned one of the largest sawmills on Puget Sound, and knew the country. That neither soil [n]or climate was fit for farming. That the only value in that country was timber, but that was immense, but if farmland was what I was after I would only be losing time to go there. He said he would direct me to the best available location on the coast. He and others owned a large Spanish grant in the San Bernardino valley and was just building a canal to lead the Santa Anna river to irrigate it, and that when planted in orange trees it would be as valuable as any land in the state. {5} He said he would contract with me to sell to my people, not more than 80 acres to a family at five dollars per acre, and furnish water for irrigation at 50 cents per acre per year, and give twenty years time to pay for the land with ten per cent interest on deferred payments. He would even furnish working capital. I told him that I had agreed to go to the Puget Sound and would be glad to take advantage of the information he had given me. He said you can't go to Puget Sound for two weeks, there is no boat. That will give you time to look over this matter. I said I will think of it and see you again.

I did not know what to think of the man. He did not look, talk, or act like a confidence man or an ordinary promoter and when I got back to the hotel, I told Henry. He said, "I know Mr. Sayword, that is I know he owns one of the large mills, and is considered reliable and responsible. I have no doubt he told the truth as he saw it. As to the Puget Sound, I think he is about right, and I think you can depend on him doing as he says he will." {6}

I didn't like San Francisco. Every afternoon was cold, drizzly, fog and wind. I have never seen fog and wind work so well together. I asked Henry if they had any such weather on Puget Sound. He said, "Yes we have fog, and we have wind, but we have them separately, no[t] together." That sounded better.

One day Henry and I were down on the docks, we met the captain of an English revenue cutter. We sampled some wine together, and when the captain found that I had recently been in England, he became interested. He told us that he was going to Victoria in a couple of days and I suggested that we go with him. He said he could not carry passengers, but if we wanted to go he would be glad to ship me as a clerk and Henry as a steward's assistant. Henry said that he would be almost sure to be seasick, and would not be much of an assistant. The captain said, "I expect that, but we will have to get along. You fellows get your traps aboard tomorrow and sign up(;) we will start the day after. (") I saw Sayword and explained. He said, "I guess it is better so. You will be better satisfied when you return."

We moved aboard the cutter, got a room together and next morning we were on the big Pacific. Henry was seasick all right. About all the clerking I had to do was to keep track of the cargo. Henry discharged.

We arrived in Victoria, helped the captain a day taking in supplies, got paid off, made the captain and crew help spend our money, bid them good bye and took (the) steamer, Henry for Port Townsend, I for Olympia.

I felt lonely when Henry left. It was a cloudy, drizzly day, the clouds hung low, and the distant views were hid, only the dark, wooded uninhabitated shores in sight. The Sound, reflecting the clouds, looked gray. I began to think that Sayword might be right after all. I did not fall in love with anything on this trip from Victoria to Olympia. We called at Seattle, but did not call at Tacoma. We called at Steilacoom, arriving in Olympia about dark on March 15, 1875. {7} I felt discouraged and thought of San Bernardino. Then I thought of my wife, how she suffered from heat, and the Olympia climate was soft and cool, only a little moist at present.

THERE WAS PLENTY OF FAIRLY GOOD LAND
[Stanwood News, October 22, 1920.]

My first morning in Washington, March 16, opened [with] clear sunshine. I took this as a happy augury. The low hanging, damp clouds were gone, and my depression with them. Everything looked different in the sunshine. The dark, almost forbidding shores, now looked fair and inviting. The gray Water of the Sound was now crystal clear, so faithfully reflecting the shores that it was difficult to distinguish which side of the bay was top or bottom. The jagged summits of the Olympics now appeared clear and cold, sticking out of the dark, green bank of firs on the foothills. I thought of Norway. This scene was different, but just as beautiful, and the air was fine, full of [the] fragrance of the firs and the smell of the sea.

My first call was on the governor, Elisha P. Ferry. {8} I think the governor was the biggest man for his size I have yet seen. He stood five feet seven on his rather high boot heels and he weighed less than ninety pounds, but he had a head big enough for a very large man, and it was crowded full of brains and energy. He gave me much valuable information and referred me to Mrs. A. H. H. Stewart [Stuart], who was acting immigration commissioner, and made a specialty of studying the territory and its resources. I next called on Mrs. Stuart, a lady of much more than ordinary intelligence and energy. She usually wore a man's hat --- on a man's head I thought. Mr. Stuart, a very fine, somewhat sickly man, was the receiver of the U.S. Land office, and Mrs. Stuart did much of the work, I think. They had no children, and the tribe of Stuart in Olympia is extinct, but the Stuart block still stands. I got much practical information from the Stuarts, and the land office records.

I next called on Capt. William McMicken, U.S. surveyor general and civil war veteran, at his office and got more from the records. I had the advantage of being familiar with such records, and I put in about two weeks reading field notes during office hours, and by observing, and asking questions of anybody, the rest of the time. I copied a lot of field notes of land I planned to examine, and I began to hope that I would not have to return to California. I also met Nick Owings, secretary of state, and Tom Reed, auditor.

Col. Nicholas Owings was a civil war veteran, and with the possible exception of Gov. Ferry, the keenest politician in the state, and of course a good fellow. Reed was an old settler, a surveyor and the father of Mark Reed of Shelton. I also met Maj. Gen. Milroy and his boys, and many other remarkable people whom I cannot name here for want of space, time and memory.

During my first stay in Olympia I lived at Young's New England hotel, the largest building in the town, covering a quarter block, two-story frame, a very good hotel for the time and place. Mr. Young, an Englishman about my age, was an early settler on the coast. He had spent several years in San Diego, California, and he did considerable to wean me from the idea of living in southern California.

Having got all the information from the officials and from the records, I thought I could use, I prepared to look at the country. Washington P. Frazier of Olympia did more than anyone to make the information I had gathered useful. He took me out in the country and taught me the names and characteristics of the different kinds of trees and shrubs. Some kinds of trees, and shrubs, will only grow on rich soil. Others on poor soil. Still others will grow on both poor and rich soil, but make very different growth. I soon got so that I could tell at some distance, by the timber, what soil it grew on.

There was a sort of road from Olympia to Steilacoom, and on or about the first of April I shouldered my Winchester and started on a hike for Steilacoom. It is only twelve miles from Olympia to the Nisqually river, but I got tangled up on the trail and it got late before I got there, and fearing I might have to camp, I shot a chipmunk for supper, just then I heard a dog bark, and I put the "monk" in my pocket and following the sound I came to the Hartman place.

The Hartmans were very old settlers, Mr. and Mrs. Hartman, three grown boys and a girl. The boys were famous hunters and always kept the house well supplied with venison, using only muzzle loading guns. Of course they were interested in my gun, and I explained it to them. Here for the first time I found what the notes I had, termed first-rate land. It did not look first-rate to me. It was a gray, sandy, clay loam, and not black alluvial soil, full of humus such as we called first-rate land in Iowa and Dakota.

But I noticed several other things. They showed me wheat in the straw (they had used chickens for threshing it). I had never seen such wheat or straw, and when I asked how much it' would yield to the acre Mr. Hartman told me that he had threshed and weighed the wheat on ten square rods, and he gave me the weight. I multiplied that weight by 16 and found that he had more than 60 bushels to the acre. I concluded that I had yet something to learn about land. He showed me potatoes, beets, and carrots, such as I had never seen, and apples that were in a class by themselves as far as my experience reached. The clover in part of the meadow was green and the clover nearly a foot tall, and new peas were up several inches. He told me that they had unlimited market for everything they could raise. His principal market crops were hay, butter and eggs, and he had no trouble to get all supplies he needed for less than the same would cost in Dakota.

I stayed one day at Hartman's, then resumed my tramp to Steilacoom. Steilacoom was an important town at that time, quite as important as Seattle. It was older. It was a straggling village, spread over quite a steep slope toward the bay. It had a wharf, and woodyard, and the Olympia boat made regular landings. The city had one store, maybe two. One quite large hotel, a brewery, and a couple of saloons, and it had a "newspaper." {9}

From the information and the experience I had, I concluded that the only practical way to see the Puget Sound country was to travel on the water. Aside from the Steilacoom plain and a few small, isolated prairies of similar character, the country was one vast forest of giant trees, with an undergrowth jungle almost impenetrable, and there were no roads and few trails. All the settlements were on some water front, bay or river. And it could not well have been otherwise. Any inland location would have been valueless because of the difficulty of transportation.

On the boat from Victoria I had met David Hume, a fisherman. I met him again at Steilacoom, preparing to go up on the Henderson bay to look up a farm and fishery location. {10} I arranged to go with Hume on this expedition. We put a week's supplies in a skiff and started. Twelve miles from Steilacoom, a long point of land juts out from the great Kitsap peninsula and was locally known as "burnt point." On this point Dave found exactly the location he wanted. We camped there under a big fir and Dave caught some fish for supper and I shot a big blue grouse for breakfast. We were almost making a living. The next morning we started up the bay after Dave had set out some fish lines.

It had been a fine forenoon, but in the afternoon clouds came up, and we thought it might rain. Dave said we had better go to an abandoned logging camp about 3 miles back that he knew about. We went back about three miles and up a narrow bay about a quarter of a mile, and into the jungle a hundred yards, where we found the camp. Dave said that as soon as the tide was out, we would go down to the bay and get some oysters. We did and nearly filled a coal oil case which we borrowed from the house. We put in a good part of the night opening and eating oysters. I thought that a country where I could find a large house, furnished, and no one to dispute the right of possession, and a half bushel of fine oysters for ten minutes work, was not to be sneezed at, and we didn't, but Dave snored dreadfully during the night.

The next day I found plenty of land that appeared fairly good, and not very heavy clearing. I thought it would answer our purpose if I could find nothing better. On the whole 30 or more miles of shore there was no settlement.

About half a mile from "burnt point" was a logging camp (not used) belonging to Jesse Ball, that Dave proposed to occupy until he could build his own house. We went there and found Bali's twelve year old boy, Warren, all alone. We turned in with him and I think he was glad to have our company. During the past week the only company he had enjoyed was skunks. A family or colony of skunks had located under the floor. While [we were] staying at "skunk" camp Mr. Ball came with his "sloop." Mr. Ball was operating several logging camps. He got his supplies from the Hanson mill at Tacoma, and carried them to his camps on this sloop, all alone.

Mr. Ball was a widower. He had two boys, Dave 16 and Warren 12 years of age.' Dave did a man's work in one of the camps, but Warren was a sort of nuisance to the camp, and the camp a nuisance to Warren. Mr. Ball stayed a couple of days at "skunk" camp, and gave me much valuable information. Before he left he asked me to take Warren with me and he would pay the expense. He said that he could see that Warren was fond of me and he was sure I would have no trouble with him. I thought so too and agreed. Warren was delighted. We got aboard of Bali's sloop, leaving Hume in possession of "skunk" camp. Ball landed Warren and me at the U.S. penitentiary on McNeil Island, to take the next boat to Olympia.

The warden at the pen, Mr. Pitt, informed us that the Olympia boat had passed and we would have to wait until 4 o'clock next day. He invited us to supper, but said he was sorry he could not offer us a room, as the court had just sent him a consignment of liquor merchants and he did not have a vacant cell. I met these merchants at supper. Most all the prisoners at that time were in from 3 to 6 months for selling whiskey to the Indians. It was a 100 per cent business if they were not caught at it, and 3 to 6 months good, free board and lodging if they were caught. They could not lose, it was a snap.

Mr. Pitt directed us across the lagoon to Mr. Smith, a rancher. [There we spent the night.]

GETTING ACQUAINTED WITH THE COUNTRY
[Stanwood News, November 5, 1920.]

Back in Olympia. We began to look up a boat without much success, either the boat or the price was unsatisfactory. One day Warren and I were exploring the beach about two miles from Olympia; we found a wreck, that is a boat on the beach with a plank on the bottom stove in. I gave it a thorough examination. It was a boat about 22 feet long, about 7 feet wide, and quite deep. It was partly decked with a small half cabin. Upon inquiry in Olympia we found that the boat was shipped from New York two years before, and used as a smuggler for a year, or until captured and sold by the revenue department to some Olympia boys, who had run it ashore and wrecked it in a squall. They took off the sails and abandoned the boat. I was told to see Mr. Cook about it. I did so. Mr. Cook said he would give me the boat, and sell me the sails for $20.00. I bought it. Cook gave me a bill of sale, and I became a shipowner. With a piece of new plank, and some paint, the boat and sails would be about as good as new. The sails were nearly new, and of excellent quality.

The smugglers had saved no expense to make their blockade runner capable. I learned that their way of operating, was to lay up in Victoria harbor with their cargo of opium aboard and wait for a very dark and stormy night, cross the straits, Where no small boat was expected to be able to navigate, land in one of the innumerable small covers [coves], hide the cargo, and return to Victoria. The boat was just small enough to be under register; confederates in small fishing boats would visit the cache, take a few cans of opium at the time and deliver to their Chinese confederates in the city. They would of course smuggle anything that paid, but opium was the chief article. They made the moderate margin of 1000 per cent. But Warren and I were not competent as sailors to take up the business, though we had the boat, [a] perfect sea boat and very fast.

We rigged up the sails and started for Shuttlroe Bay, where Mr. Ball had a logging camp. {11} We sailed into the little harbor before a good breeze. We had the boat hauled ashore, borrowed tools, got a plank and repaired the boat --- good job too. We also gave the boat two coats of paint. It took the paint two weeks to dry, but when finished we had a new boat, and a dandy.

The present day logging is conducted on quite a different plan from logging in 1875. Much of the timber was cut on government land so near the shore that the logs were rolled into the water by hand power. This was called "land [hand] logging." Much the larger part was hauled on skid roads by oxen. Very few horses were used, and no steam power. The skid roads all terminated on the beach, and were seldom more than a mile long, most of them much less. The logs were hauled to the shore, and rolled into the water behind a boom made of long timbers linked together with heavy chains.

The camp (by describing Ball's camp I describe a hundred others as well) was the cook house, about 50x 16 feet, 8 foot wall. The kitchen in one end, and the rest, dining room, with a table down the center the whole length. The bunkhouse was about the same size with a continuous upper and lower bunk, about three feet wide the whole length of the building, on both sides. A bench in front of the bunks and a large box stove in the center constituted the furniture. There was hay in the bunks, the men furnished their own bedding. There was not many windows (not any in the bunkhouse). The stable was wider, say 20 feet, and long enough to hold the teams (Ball had twenty oxen). The manger ran down the center and the oxen were tied only on one side of the manger, the other side was used for storing hay and grain. There was also a shop, (blacksmith and carpenter) and a small two room house for the boss. All these buildings were built of rough lumber with cedar shake roof.

The power plant was the oxen (called bulls) --- the chain and dog hooks (big, sharp, steel hooks to drive into the logs). In the shops was the sling, in which they hung the "bulls" while shoeing them --- the forge --- the grindstone --- the sawyer's bench, and a multitude of good and bad tools. The force (named in the order of their importance) were the cook --- the boss --- the bull driver --- the faller --- the skidder --- the hook tender --- the sawyer --- the swampers --- the barkers --- the greaser --- the landing and generally useful man.

The driver is very important. On him chiefly depends the output of the camp, and he gets the biggest salary. If he keeps the team in condition, and gets out the logs, he is worth it. I knew one driver, "Ricord" by name, that got a bigger salary than the governor, and strange as it seems Ricord did no cursing and hardly ever drew blood. Another very important man is the skidder. He is the real road builder --- the engineer --- and some of those old skidders that didn't know a tangent from a tomato, did as good surveying as some R.R. engineers with their elaborate instruments, and education. The greaser is necessarily a Mexican. He is usually a boy, or an old man. His office is to grease the skids. He does not need much brains, but he needs a reliable nose and stomach. The grease used was mostly dogfish liver which had a smell to be noticed not only near by, but at a distance. A blind man could follow a skid road recently greased, if he had a nose, or half a nose. Warren had tried the job but his stomach revolted. The best greaser is a Siwash. They have trained noses, and impregnable stomachs.

In Ball's lumber pile I found some wide and very thin cedar boards. I got some of them and built a small skiff to carry on the sloop for landing. I built another boat for Ball. Also did some surveying. This paid my board. That was not necessary. These old time lumbermen were the most hospitable people in the world. They would feed any tramp, and urge him to stay. This was not Ball only, it was universal. They would share their blanket and grub, with anybody. These hard working, hard drinking and hard swearing lumber jacks were gentlemen in the truest sense of the word. I fear they are extinct, if they are, the world has lost some of its best.

The boat being painted and dried, I had no longer any excuse to remain with my delightful friends in the camp. I could have got a job as greaser I think, but I was not hunting for work, so one fine morning Warren and I said goodby, and set sail for Henderson Bay.

We called on Hume. He had his cabin built and his fishing industry in full swing. Hume, being a boat man, admired our boats very much, which put the real finishing touch to our already strong friendship. Before we went to Henderson Bay we called at Hartman's and got "Drover." Newt. Hartman had already got a Winchester and told me that killing deer was now too easy to be interesting. Newton later became a famous steamboat captain on the Sound and in Alaska.

We were now three in the boat, "Drover," Warren and I. We arrived at my prospective place on Henderson Bay, and anchored the sloop in the cute little harbor. In a clump of Alder near a spring we built an Alder log bungalow 8 x 10 feet and cleared and planted garden seed in about two square rods. We were farming, Warren and I. [Iverson spends a page extolling the intelligence of "Drover" and developing the method he employed in getting deer within shooting range.] I am so particular in describing this dog, because in those days with such a dog, we could get a deer any time. Not so now. Civilization has spoiled this country, most countries in fact. We were leading [an] idyllic life, but not financially profitable. We decided to return to Olympia.

I called at the surveyor general's office and there met Ross P. Shoecraft, a U.S. deputy surveyor, who had an unfinished survey on the Skokomish river, in the Hood's Canal region. He invited me to join his party, and I decided to go and get some experience. I was in fact glad to have the chance as there was no employment except skid greaser in sight. I had to return Warren to his father. He cried, but when I promised that as soon as I got settled he could come he felt much better. I kept that promise and Warren stayed with me several years. With me he was a good boy. He did not get along so well with others.

Early in July Shoecraft organized his party for the survey on the Skokomish. In the party was my old friend, Washington Frazier. He was something of a character, and as I frequently came in contact with him later, I shall introduce, and try to explain him now. He was about my age and a giant in size and physical strength. There was considerable to him mentally as well. He was a pioneer child, the first white child born in the state. Like most pioneer children his schooling had been neglected, but by his own effort he had accumulated considerable miscellaneous education. Like myself he knew a little of many things and nothing thoroughly except woodcraft and native lino [lingo]. He was exceedingly vain of his knowledge and displayed it on every occasion possible. To us it was more valuable as amusement than information. But he was a good fellow and competent in his work. When we were in a hurry we called him "Wash." When we had plenty of time and wanted to please him we called him "professor."

James McFadden (son of Federal Judge McFadden) was a good fellow and a good surveyor. Then there was "Tom," "Dick" and "Harry," assistants. I went for experience and I got it.

Early in July we loaded my sloop with grub, instruments and men and sailed for Oakland on Big Skookum bay, some miles above where the town of Shelton is now located. {12} It was Shelton's farm then. With a flood tide we sailed and drifted up this bay at great speed, and arrived at Oakland, then the county seat of Mason county, before the tide turned. The county seat consisted of several shacks, and a population of perhaps twenty, maybe twenty-five. There was a "shanty" called the court house, but no jail or church or saloon or school or store or other evidence of civilization that are usually seen at the seat of government. There was a sort of blacksmith shop where an old fellow tinkered with guns.

At this place we had to make up our goods into man packs. Early next morning we shouldered our packs and started for Union City on Hood's Canal. I had never carried a pack before, and I began to get some experience. In my pack was a sack of flour and my personal property consisting of two pairs of socks, two bandanas, and a yard of mosquito netting. I had some experience with too much baggage, also with mosquitoes. The pack did not seem heavy, but after going about five miles my shoulders, also a spot on the crupper was too warm, and before we got to Union City my shoulders and the spot were raw. I was getting experience all right.

In the account of my Henderson Bay excursion I left out an important item. Early in June my old friend and former legislative clerk, Carl Christenson arrived. {13} I knew from correspondence that he and Leque had both sold their Dakota farms, and expected to be at Steilacoom about August 1st. But the Pacific pull had been too strong for Carl, and he had arranged to have his family come with Leque at the time stated. Carl inspected the Henderson Bay lands, and said that they were perfectly satisfactory. But I had heard so much about land up north that I had concluded to see that country. I had no object in staying in or near Steilacoom except to be on hand to aid my Dakota friends when they arrived. This was now not necessary. Carl could attend to that and I was free to go. I left Carl on McNeil's Island with my friend John Swan, and joined the Shoecraft party as before stated {14}

SURVEYING ON THE STILLAGUAMISH
[Stanwood News, November 19, December 3, 1920.]

[In the beginning of August the Shoecraft surveying crew had moved into the Stillaguamish Valley. The survey began at the mouth of the Pilchuck.]

August 10th --- Began the survey. Run into a crab apple jungle and cut a tunnel a couple of hundred yards to a swamp of bottomless mud. We bridged it over with brush, and ascended a rather steep hill covered with fallen timber. It was impossible to proceed on the ground so we took the monkey route over the top. From the top of this hill we had a fine view of the Stillaguamish valley. Bounded on the east by the foothills of the Cascades, to the south it blended into the valley of the Snohomish, and the table lands to the south. Southwest we saw Puget Sound with the many dark green islands which appeared to lay much higher up than the valley nearby. Beyond the Sound was the sawtooth horizon of the Olympics and the wide gap of straits with ocean horizon, ending in Vancouver Island. To the north the horizon was on top of us. Immense, tall and thick timber, without a break. The valley in front of us was a dark bluish green, except a narrow belt of lighter green, following the windings of the very crooked river. This appeared much like a light green snake on a dark green ring.

From this point our line ran through very heavy, large timber. I had seen what I thought was fine timber, but this was finer. The trees stood very thick and would average about three feet in diameter, and two hundred feet to the first limbs. We measured some fallen trees to get the length. The tops overhead were so thick that every ray of sunshine was excluded. There was very little undergrowth, these forest giants having monopolized the soft and air to the exclusion of almost all other life. {15} Only fungi and moss could thrive in this twilight. There was no life motion, but a strong smell of decaying wood. No air stirred, no bird or chipmunk disturbed the almost oppressive silence. Yet it was grand, this endless array of columns, with the dark green canopy, two or more hundred feet overhead.

August 11th. --- About 4 P.M. our line struck the river. At this point the river was about 150 feet wide and 4 to 6 feet deep. How to cross was a problem. Fortunately it was solved for us by a number of Siwash's with canoes, who came in sight. They were fishing. They ferried us across for a dollar. These people were quite primitive, so was their fishing. They were using identically the same appliances they used a thousand years ago. Of this the professor assured me and of course it is so. They used a double pointed spear with detachable harpoon heads, made of bone and rawhide, the bone point being fastened to the ends of a rawhide string about eight feet long. The spear is a willow pole about 16 feet long, properly dressed, with one end split for about three feet, and the two halves spread about three inches. The rawhide string is fastened by the middle, just above the split, and the harpoon points stuck loosely on the two prongs of the spear. When the harpoon points are driven into the fish the points slip off and the fish is fast to the ends of the string. A twenty pound salmon would break most any pole with a solid spear head. It would be hard to improve this primitive spear.

The river was full of fish. The Indians could catch many more than they could take care of. They dry the fish without salting, and wet weather makes the curing of a fish crop as precarious as the curing of a hay crop, and much more smelly. They cut out the backbone, put in several spreaders and hang the fish on poles over just sufficient smoke to keep off the flies. When fully dried they store it where it can be kept dry. Being dried without salt it does not draw moisture from the air as readily as salted fish.

August 12th. --- We camped on open ground under some giant maples that were thickly covered with moss. We gathered enough dry moss to make elegant beds. With the fresh fish we got from the Indians, added to the best of our larder, we had a feast and were dry and happy.

[A few days after this entry Shoecraft became ill and had to be taken out. About August 20 the crew, minus Shoecraft, who had been left at Tulalip, arrived at Centerville (Stanwood) to return to the survey. {16} Iverson did not return to the survey with the crew, but remained in Centerville.]

At Stanwood I came to the conclusion that I had got enough experience for one season. I had seen all of the Stillaguamish valley I cared to see. I had seen enough land with good soil to locate all the people I cared for that was likely to come, and I decided to learn something about farming.

At the Calden hotel I met Bill Moore. At that time he was the principal man of the mudflat country. He had the largest farm on the flats besides a logging camp right at his home about two and a half miles north of Stanwood. He was looking for harvest hands, and I enlisted. He had a rake-off reaper, and a gang of binders, about twice as many as we would use in Dakota. But there was twice as much straw to the acre and three times as much grain.

One day Nels Eide came there looking for a job and got it. We worked together until harvest and threshing was over. Nels wanted a farm. I had my mind on the grass prairie where we lost the professor in the blind slough. Nels and I looked it over together and concluded that it was identical with Bill Moore's land. My notes from the land office told me that the major portion of the island belonged to Jerome Berry and the rest was pre-empted by another Berry. {17} We agreed that I should find Berry and buy the Jerome place and if the other Berry's claim had expired as the notes indicated, Nels should pre-empt that part, and prove up on it, and when we had a clear title to the whole island we would divide it in four equal parts between us two and Nels P. Leque and my brother-in-law, Andy Danielson. I was to start for Olympia at once.

STANWOOD IN 1876 {18}
[Stanwood News, November 19, December 3, 10, 1920.]

[Although it follows logically here, Iverson's account of his trip to Olympia will be deferred to the concluding section, which order it had in the author's series of articles. Iverson interrupts the chronology of his story by stating, "This is perhaps the proper place to say something concerning the condition of things in and around Stanwood. In the fall of 1876 . . . . "He then comments on the settlers, nearly all of whom were English or American, the latter from the eastern seaboard; describes in detail the cultivated and uncultivated areas; tells how the land was diked; and discusses the formation of soil by the action of river and tide. These observations are omitted for the sake of more pertinent ones. The year 1876 was the one when Norwegian settlers began arriving on the Stillaguamish. {19} ]

The Stillaguamish flats, some six to seven square miles, are made by the Stillaguamish and partly by the Skagit river. Sometimes when the Skagit is in flood and the Stillaguamish is not, the Skagit will flow over the flats and borrow outlet from the Stillaguamish.

On the front for some distance back from the sea, only grass and scattering juniper grow. Farther back was a dense jungle of more varieties of brush than I can name. I will only name devil club, and gooseberry, for the reason that I got better acquainted with them because of their clinging nature, also vine maple, crab apple, alder, willow, and others because they gave us exercise. Over and between grew, about as thick as they could stand, immense big spruce, and cedar, and on the newer made land along the river, alder, maple and cottonwood. It was sometimes difficult to determine just where tide land ended and river bottom commenced.

Nearly all the tide lands were flooded more or less at extreme high tide if the river was high at the same time. At the extreme outer edge of the grass land, about six feet deep. To fit this land for cultivation, dykes were built to exclude the high water.

The tide land soil is mostly silt and very fine and heavy. It is much like clay, with little or no sand or gravel. When dry it bakes quite hard and shrinks, leaving cracks wide and deep enough to let a wagon wheel in to the hub. When covered with crops it does not bake or crack as much, but generally it is too hard to plow in the fall before the first rain. For durable fertility I think this land is considerably better than any land I know anything about. There is land touching the townsite of Stanwood, that has been cropped in oats for thirty years without fertilizers and produced more than a hundred bushels of oats each crop. Three tons of clover and timothy hay is not considered a very heavy crop.

The land mentioned has, however, been flooded by the river several times and some new silt left. One of the river farmers said that he considered a good freshet worth at least a hundred dollars to him. Perhaps it was, most people consider flooding a nuisance. But the Stillaguamish floods rarely do much damage; never to crops. They are all winter floods. On the Skagit, that sometimes has summer flood, considerable damage results to crops but it leaves fertilizer.

South of the pavement between the Stanwoods was the densest kind of jungle of crab apple and various other kinds of brush nuisance in a foot or more of water most of the time, and all of it under very large and thick spruce timber. Years later in a very dry summer the ground dried out and fire started in the dry accumulation of leaves and other debris, it produced the most terrific fires I ever saw. The spruce roots were mostly in this stuff on top of the clay; nearly all burned off, and the trees fell. There was scarcely a tree or snag standing or a root left in the ground after the fire. It was the best clearing job I ever saw. It cleared nearly all of Jack Irwin's land, much of the Peter Leque and adjoining farms, some of Oliver's, and turned what seemed an impossible swamp into the best farm land in America, with very little trouble and expense and gave a magnificent show while it was doing it.

I think it is impossible to adequately describe these timber jams in the rivers of Western Washington as they were in 1876. If you can imagine a crow's nest, from a quarter of a mile to several miles long, a hundred to several hundred yards wide, and twenty to fifty feet deep, made of trees two hundred feet long, and up to ten feet in diameter, with all their limbs and roots, and all descriptions of smaller timber and brush, filled in lengthwise and crosswise, top up and top down, with the soil left on the roots of the giants. If you can imagine this, then you have a faint idea of a timber jam.

This first jam that I saw, I saw in the process of building. The river was bank full with muddy, gray water, which was literally full of all kinds of driftwood coming down stream at the rate of say, ten miles an hour. When this drift struck the upper end of the jam, most of it would dive, which explained the fact that the jam was much higher than the river bank.

Many years later some men cut out this jam and got enough timber out of it to make them rich. The area of the jam was some thirty or forty acres, but it produced more good timber than any quarter section of land.

I happened to be at Stanwood when most of this jam went out. The river was running bank full, and of course carried drift. About two o'clock P.M. the river was a moving jam as far as we could see up or down stream. It was the same at sundown, and the same until afternoon the following day, twenty-four hours. The current was more than five miles an hour, and the river more than a hundred feet wide. This would make this drift equal a raft one hundred feet wide, and more than a hundred miles long. Some people may think this an exaggeration, but it is not; I can prove by Pearson that it was a fact. {20}

It is known that we have some timber, but it is not so well known just what that timber is like, and "big" is only a comparative term. I measured around cedar trees as high up as I could reach with my 66 foot surveyor's chain and it lacked more than six feet of reaching around. Near the city of Snohomish they had dressed a stump for a dancing floor. It was twenty-three feet across. At my place we caught a cedar adrift. We had lust built a barn, ready to put on the roof. The roof was 110 Feet across or 55 on each side and 60 feet long. We got all the roof out of that tree, also 3 inch split plank for the stable floor 16 x 60 feet, also a quarter mile of 7 raft fence, and did not use nearly all of the tree. It was over ten feet throughout our first cut, about ten feet from the root. It was somewhat hollow or we could not have sawed it with the saw we had. Old Baumgardt, a Prussian, lived about three years in a snag near Cedarhome. The snag was about 80 Feet high and hollow. At the root, where old "Bum," as we called him, lived, the room inside was about 12 Feet. He had a good floor in it. Three small windows and a good door. He had a cook stove, with Four joints of pipe and a cedar chimney seventy feet high. It was a good house, tight, plenty of ventilation and head room.

The mill at Utsaladdy was a large export mill. The first time I was there, four large ships were loading lumber. Here I first met J. P. Larson. He was the mill mechanic and he knew that mill and all about it from a to z. I think he was the best emergency mechanic in America. He later, after the mill died, made a fine Farm on his Livingston marsh land, which he sold some years ago to Hans Myron. He now lives in a fine house on a small piece of land in the same neighborhood near his son-in-law, Sivert Johnson. Larson is exactly my age, being born on the same day, September 14, 1845. His wife, who was a young woman when I first knew her, died quite recently and her daughter who was a child when I first knew her, and which does not seem so long ago, is now considerable of a grandmother. Thus does time fly.

The mill at Utsaladdy kept the only store for many miles around, but Peter DeJorup, who sold only whiskey, had much more trade. He was a Dane and a really fine man and did not sell fighting whiskey if he knew it. He was a "batch" then, but shortly after married one of the finest ladies that ever came to this country, so justly famous for fine ladies, and there was no fighting whiskey in Utsaladdy after that. Space forbids me to note more of the many notable characters in Utsaladdy at that time.

The trail from O'Brien's to Utsaladdy was almost a road. All the road tax of the mill and the mill community was applied on that piece of road, and ii it had been properly applied, ought to have paved it with gold. The taxes were all worked out, and the object was to put in a day --- not a day's work. If it could not have been paved with gold it could have been paved with cards and empty bottles to be found along the road.

There must have been a couple of hundred men employed in and about the mill. There were several more and better buildings than there is now. Peter DeJorup used two of the larger for hotels and both were full. Utsaladdy was much the same kind of town as Tacoma, but it was a larger and better town. The last owner of the town, before the Puget Mill company bought and killed it, was Thomas Cranny, who after Peter DeJorup's death married Mrs. DeJorup. They moved to Coupeville, the county seat of Island county, where Mr. Cranny held office for many years, and finally died. Mrs. Cranny is still alive, I believe.

The only practical way of communication between Stanwood and Utsaladdy was by water through the north channel of the Stillaguamish. This channel was shallow and crooked. When there was enough water in it for navigation the flats through which it runs are flooded, and the channel is about as difficult to find and keep as anything outdoors. Yet, all lumber and almost everything else, had to come through it. Jim Calden had a large rowboat running on this route by wind and tide schedule, carrying whiskey and passengers, mail, and occasionally less indispensable goods. Lumber was sometimes carried on scows, more often rafted. By taking advantage of the wind and tide a good raft could be taken from Utsaladdy to Stanwood on one tide. Only about four hours time could be used over the fiats, the distance being about seven miles. Usually the lumber in the raft would have a coating of fine silt when landed.

The Utsaladdy mill would not sell its best lumber locally. That was for export. But what the mill then called inferior lumber would be considered first-class now, and the inferior lumber was cheap. I once bought a lot of lumber at the mill for four dollars a thousand, and quite a lot of it was clear cedar siding or rustic, worth about fifty dollars now, I suppose. Another time I got a lot of what they called cull lumber for fifty cents a thousand, but with this raft I got stuck on the fiats, and had to stay all night on the raft in a cold rain. When I got the raft home I thought it was paid for.

THE LOCATION IS FOUND
[Stanwood News, January 6, 1921.]

One foggy morning in September Nels Eide and I took passage on Jim Caldens whiskey boat for Utsaladdy. There we took steamboat to Olympia, the boat calling at Seattle, Tacoma and Steilacoom. Our object in going to Olympia was to buy the Jirona [Jerome] Berry place, 16,490 acres and if vacant Nels was to preempt the rest of the Island, 123.9. {21}

At Berry's logging camp we found that Berry had gone to San Francisco and would be away three or four weeks. We also learned that the land was for sale at $1200. At the land office we found that the other land on the island was vacant and Eide filed preemption on it. We next went to the Budlongs boat house and found my sloop o.k. Eide who was an excellent boat sailor admired my ship very much and next day we sailed for McNeil's Island where we found the Leque and Christensen families domiciled in Swan's big logging camp, cook and bunk house combination. There would have been plenty of room for a couple more families. They were as glad to see us as we were to see them and they seemed to have fell in love with the country already. Especially the ladies. From their camp is about as fine a view as can be found. I know of no better place from which to see all of Mount Rainier including the foothills, and next door about 200 yards distant was the U.S. penitentiary. Mrs. Leque said that scenery was almost equal to Ulvik only different (Ulvik had no penitentiary).

Leque and Christensen had got into business already. They were grubbing ship knees. Aside from logging, that was about the largest industry in the country at that time. Mr. Rogers, the principal merchant in Steilacoom, had a contract with San Francisco shipbuilders for an unlimited amount of ship knees, and Leque and Christensen had a contract with Rogers for all they could get out. Leque had had no experience in timber at all, and Christensen very little, and Rogers told me confidentially that they would not make their board, and that they had run quite a large bill. I told him that he need not worry about the bill, those boys would pay with either knees or money. He said: "That's what I thought but they will pay mostly with money. It takes experience to make wages at ship knees.["]

Though it does not come in regular sequence in the story I will mention the outcome here. In April [1876] Leque hired John Christensen (a Dane who lived on Wallis Island who had a large schooner rigged as a scow) to freight ship knees from McNeil's Island and Henderson Bay to Steilacoom. {22} When the first scow load arrived Rogers told Leque to come to the store and settle up Leque said that he had some more knees, and he would come when they were all delivered. He brought two more loads and Rogers had to pay Leque considerable money instead of Leque paying him as he expected. Rogers said that it was the first time he ever paid money for ship knees and this to a couple of prairie green horns. Leque did not have experience but he had judgment and perseverance.

They had some rather stony and gravelly land in cultivation and raised fair crops. They had ditched and cleared part of a quite large swamp near the head of the cove. It laid high enough so there was no difficulty about drainage outlet. The soil was almost clear humus, black and very light when dry, but when saturated it was much like soup. This soil was about a foot deep, resting on blue clay, about as impervious to water as rock, resulting in the top soil being a bed of slush when wet, and a bed of dust when dry. At planting time when moisture conditions were right, plants would start fine, but when the dry season advanced the soil would dry out and the plants die. In the right condition it had the appearance of first class land, but it was useless and had to be abandoned.

Another drawback to farming was the number of deer on the island. [But one of the Christensens turned this to advantage. He built a deer trap.] The deer trap turned out to be quite a source of revenue. He sold venison as well as wood and milk, and garden stuff to boot, and got all his supplies delivered at his own wharf. He only had to give an order to the purser.

Leque, Christensen, Eide and I went together and inspected the Henderson Bay land. Christensen was very enthusiastic, Leque a little less so, but he said that they were better than he expected. But Eide said that he would not give his claim at Stanwood for the whole Henderson Bay country.

Leque had been working, thinking, and no doubt dreaming ship knees, and now he began to explore with ship knees in view. He put in a whole day at it, and said that he had found enough good prospects to keep him busy until spring, and thought he could get out at least twice as many as he could on McNeil's Island. He had also found an abandoned logging house which he intended to move into and occupy. Christensen had made a similar discovery and they decided to move their ship knee industry to Henderson Bay. We returned to McNeil's Island.

A day or two later Leque, Eide and I started in the sloop for Stanwood. We called at Seattle and got a supply for bachelor housekeeping, including a big stove. This made something of a load on the little sloop. When we had all our stuff aboard, about 3 P.M., a heavy gale of wind from the south began to drive all small craft in the harbor to shelter between the docks. I had some doubts about the advisability of starting out in this gale, but Eide said that our ship was safe in any storm, and the wind just suited him. I relied on his seamanship. We took one reef in the mainsail, got out from the wharf and hoisted it. The load in the boat made it stiffer and steadier and excepting spray, we shipped no water, although the sea ran high. The smuggler showed his quality. At 6 P.M. we anchored at Mukilteo.

We did not care to undertake crossing the Stillaguamish flats in the night, and we knew that the tide would be right in the morning. We went ashore and spent the night with old man Frost, and helped him in building a metropolis on Mukilteo spit. {23}

Next morning the wind had moderated some, but was still a good stiff breeze. After four hours sail we arrived at our destination, and tied up to a big snag in front of the Berry house. Seven hours sailing time from Seattle. By noon we had our stuff in the Berry house, the stove set up and Nels Eide, sailing master and chief cook, getting dinner ready. Leque and I were busy arranging things and getting wood.

We put in the afternoon inspecting the island and Leque agreed that it was worth more for farming purposes than the whole Henderson Bay country. We now made a memorandum of agreement to secure title to the whole island, and divide it equally as near as possible, Eide taking the north end, Leque next, then Danielson, leaving the south end to me on which the house was located. Also to share all expenses equally. It remained to secure title and subdue the land, but the conquest of the Stillaguamish by the Norsemen had begun. {24}

Notes

<1> Illustrated History of Skagit and Snohomish Counties, Washington, 967-969 (Chicago, 1906); Washington posten (Seattle), July 19, 1940; information supplied by Mrs. A. W. Morrison, Olympia, Washington.

<2> Titles to sections have been supplied by the editor.

<3> The region described was near what is now East Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

<4> Nels P. Leque and Carl Christenson. Iverson sometimes writes the latter name "Christensen."

<5> Iverson writes Santa Anna for Santa Ana. Elsewhere in the text he writes Hood's Canal for Hood Canal and McNeil's Island for McNeil Island. People usually say Hood's Canal, but not McNeil's Island.

<6> "W. P. Sayward and J. R. Thorndike selected Port Ludlow on the west shore of Admiralty Inlet, near the entrance of Hood's Canal, as an advantageous site for a sawmill in 1853. . . . It was gradually enlarged and, in 1858, was leased to Amos Phinney & Company, at a monthly rental of $500. In 1866 this firm failed, but Phinney reestablished himself, and in 1874 bought the mill and organized the Port Ludlow Mill Company. He died in 1874 and the property was sold to the Puget Mill Company for $64,000." Clinton A. Snowden, History of Washington: The Rise and Progress of an American State, 4:357 (New York, 1909). Iverson, who spells pretty much by ear, writes "Sayword."

<7> Elsewhere a small variation in the date of Iverson's arrival in Olympia occurs, and his reason for leaving Dakota is somewhat different from what he advances in the present account. "The year 1874 was a grasshopper year, and, as in the case of many others, Mr. Iverson's confidence in Dakota was so seriously shaken by the disaster that he decided to go in quest of a more congenial home. Puget Sound attracted his attention so strongly that in January, 1875, he started for the Pacific, reaching Olympia, March 10th." Illustrated History, 968.

<8> Elisha P. Ferry was governor of Washington Territory, 1872-80, and first governor of the state, 1889-93.

<9> When Iverson arrived on Puget Sound, such towns as Steilacoom, Mukilteo, and Utsaladdy were relatively important, but hardly as important as he indicates here.

<10> Some maps give Henderson Bay, others Carr Inlet.

<11> As far as can be determined, Shuttlroe Bay must have been Shuttle Road Bay. The "Shuttle Road" ran from McCleary to Old Kamilche, which was on Skookum Inlet.

<12> Big Skookum Bay is the local name for Hammersley Inlet.

<13> Presumably Christenson was clerk in Minnehaha County, Dakota Territory.

<14> This last paragraph is from Iverson's article of January 6, 1921.

<15> The editor has revised these last two sentences, which were somewhat garbled in the original because of a transposition of words.

<16> The name of Centerville was changed to Stanwood in 1878 at the request of Daniel O. Pearson, the postmaster, whose wife's maiden name was Stanwood. Later in the text Iverson refers to "The Stanwoods," referring to the two towns existent in 1920, Stanwood and East Stanwood.

<17> This "island" is identified as follows: "At Stanwood the Stillaguamish river divides, one channel flowing nearly due south into Port Susan bay, the other northwest into Skagit bay. These channels and Davis' slough constitute the boundaries of Leque's, sometimes called Iverson's island, which contains about four hundred acres, all of it open tide marsh prairie." Illustrated History, 268.

<18> This section is based on the article of December 10, with the exception of the description of the log jam, which is taken from the issue of November 19, and the paragraph on the fire, from the article of December 3.

<19> Of Iverson's part in this settlement it is stated: "As a matter of fact, Mr. Iverson is credited with being the chief leader in the movement of Scandinavians toward this select section of Snohomish county which followed the survey. Certain it is that he induced scores to locate there and was unusually active in bringing the Stillaguamish valley into public notice." Illustrated History, 968.

<20> Iverson probably refers to Daniel O. Pearson, postmaster and mayor of Stanwood.

<21> Obviously 16,490 acres is an error. See footnote 17.

<22> "Wallis Island" should be Wallace Island, as Iverson writes it below. It is now called Anderson Island, its original name, but it was known for a time as Wallace Island.

<23> Frost was presumably Morris H. Frost, co-founder of Mukilteo.

<24> It is stated that, "Together with N. P. Leque, Nils Eide and A. Danielson, Mr. Iverson bought the island now known as Leque's Island, diked it and opened farms, which are notable monuments to the foresight, zeal and courage of those men." Illustrated History, 968.

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