By O.S. Van Olinda
One afternoon in early September 1895, Mr. Lehmann started out from Seattle in his little sloop, having with him his pretty little three-year-old daughter. He intended sailing over to Vashon Landing, tying his boat up there and walking across to visit his brother John, who at that time owned the farm in Paradise Valley now occupied by Dick Fuller’s greenhouses, originally the Gilman homestead.
It was a beautiful, clear day and there was a perfect sailing breeze – until he had made his way in past the head of Vashon Island dash – when it died out completely.
As sailors have done a thousand times before, he wished with exceeding fervor for a breeze and, as has happened a thousand times, his little craft “lay becalmed, like a fairy barque upon a sea of glass.”
It was only a small sloop, but a cumbersome thing to row the two or more miles to the Vashon Wharf, so he worked it into shore and made a landing a short distance of the Aquarium post office.
No doubt there are few people now, even on Vashon Island who know that Captain Fish, a retired sea captain, bought a small place on the beach in the north of section seventeen, had a post office established there and named it Aquarium.
The hillside above was heavily timbered at that time, as, indeed, was the greater part of the Island, but a trail led up through the gulch, along a sharp ridge, then along the gulch side and, if you were a good climber and did not lose the trail, you would eventually make your way out to the highway (to dignify it by that name) exactly in front of the present home of E.J. Mace. The “highway” wasn’t much more than a pair of wagon tracks through the timber and brush, over roots and small stumps and around the larger trees and ended some hundred and fifty yards north of the present Fjeld Corner.
Mr. Lehmann evidently knew of this trail, but did not know just how to locate it, so he tried to find his way up the hill through the brush and timber. It was well toward evening when he started in and in the dense timber it was quickly dark. There was a full moon which came up early, but it shed only a dimly diffused light in the depth of the forest.
He wandered about, fighting his way through the thickets, stumbling and climbing over logs, the greater part of the time carrying his little girl, until he was well nigh exhausted.
Finally, after a short rest, he left the child, sleeping, in a comfortable spot, marking it so he could find it again – as he thought – and started alone to try to find his way out. He was still unsuccessful and eventually gave it up as impossible. Imagine then, if you can, the state of this father’s mind when he realized that he could not find his way back to the place where he had left his little daughter! He searched desperately during the rest of the night but did not find her until after daylight.
He did manage finally, however, to work his way back to the beach and then down shore to Captain Fish’s place, haggard, exhausted, and with his clothing practically torn to shreds.
Captain Fish, his good wife Ellen, and daughter, Manila, ministered in every way possible to the needs of the two weary wanderers. The child was little the worse for her part in the adventure, but Mr. Lehmann had neared the limit of endurance.
