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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Blazing The Way, by Emily Inez Denny

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license


Title: Blazing The Way
       True Stories, Songs and Sketches of Puget Sound

Author: Emily Inez Denny

Release Date: April 1, 2012 [EBook #39334]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLAZING THE WAY ***




Produced by Mark C. Orton, Pat McCoy, Bruce Jones and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






</pre>


<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="I" name="I">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp000frontis.png" width="500" height="324" alt="" title="Frontispiece" />
<span class="caption">FORT DECATUR. JANUARY 26, 1856</span>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 2]</span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 3]</span></p>
<h1>
BLAZING THE WAY</h1>

<p class="title"><small>OR</small><br />
<br />
TRUE STORIES, SONGS AND SKETCHES<br />
OF PUGET SOUND AND OTHER<br />
PIONEERS
</p>

<p class="center gap4"><big>BY<br />
EMILY INEZ DENNY<br />
<br />
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND<br />
FROM AUTHENTIC PHOTOGRAPHS</big></p>

<p class="center gap4">SEATTLE:<br />
RAINIER PRINTING COMPANY, Inc.<br />
1909</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 4]</span></p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p class="center gap4">
Copyright 1899<br />
By<br />
EMILY INEZ DENNY<br />

Published 1909</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 5]</span></p>

<blockquote><p class="center gap4">
To My Dear Father and Mother,<br />
Faithful Friends and Counselors,<br />
Whose pioneer life I shared,<br />
This book is affectionately dedicated<br />
By THE AUTHOR<br /></p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 6]</span></p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">A star stood large and white awest,</span>
<span class="i0">Then Time uprose and testified;</span>
<span class="i0">They push&#8217;d the mailed wood aside,</span>
<span class="i0">They toss&#8217;d the forest like a toy,</span>
<span class="i0">That great forgotten race of men,</span>
<span class="i0">The boldest band that yet has been</span>
<span class="i0">Together since the siege of Troy,</span>
<span class="i0">And followed it and found their rest.</span>
<br />
<span class="i6">&mdash;Miller</span><br />
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 7]</span></p>
<h2>PREFACE</h2>

<p class="title">BLAZING THE WAY.</p>

<p>In the early days when a hunter, explorer
or settler essayed to tread the mysterious depths
of the unknown forest of Puget Sound, he took
care to &#8220;blaze the way.&#8221; At brief intervals he
stopped to cut with his sharp woodman&#8217;s ax a
generous chip from the rough bark of fir, hemlock
or cedar tree, leaving the yellow inner bark
or wood exposed, thereby providing a perfect
guide by which he retraced his steps to the canoe
or cabin. As the initial stroke it may well be
emblematical of the beginnings of things in the
great Northwest.</p>

<p>I do not feel moved to apologize for this
book; I have gathered the fragments within my
reach; such or similar works are needed to set
forth the life, character and movement of the
early days on Puget Sound. The importance
of the service of the Pioneers is as yet dimly
perceived; what the Pilgrim Fathers were to
New England, the Pioneers were to the Pacific
Coast, to the &#8220;nations yet to be,&#8221; who, following
in their footsteps, shall people the wilds
with teeming cities, a &#8220;human sea,&#8221; bearing on
its bosom argosies of priceless worth.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 8]</span>It does contain some items and incidents
not generally known or heretofore published. I
hope others may be provoked to record their
pioneer experiences.</p>

<p>I have had exceptional opportunities in
listening to the thrice-told tales of parents and
friends who had crossed the plains, as well as
personal recollections of experiences and observation
during a residence of over fifty years
in the Northwest, acknowledging also the good
fortune of having been one of the first white
children born on Puget Sound.</p>

<p>Every old pioneer has a store of memories
of adventures and narrow escapes, hardships
bravely endured, fresh pleasures enjoyed, rude
but genial merrymakings, of all the fascinating
incidents that made up the wonder-life of long
ago.</p>

<p>Chronology is only a row of hooks to hang
the garments of the past upon, else they may
fall together in a confused heap.</p>

<p>Not having a full line of such supports on
which to hang the weaving of my thoughts&mdash;I
simply overturn my Indian basket of chips
picked up after &#8220;Blazing the Way,&#8221; they being
merely bits of beginnings in the Northwest.</p>

<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">E. I. DENNY.</span><br />
</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>&mdash;The poem referred to on page 144 will appear in another
work.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Author.</span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 9]</span></p>
<h3>INDEX</h3>

<div class="center">
<table border="0" style="width:90%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="index">
<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>PART I&mdash;THE GREAT MARCH</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td><td align="right"><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Crossing the Plains</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page17">17</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Down the Columbia in &#8217;51</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page34">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Settlement at Alki</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page41">41</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Founding of Seattle and Indian War</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page63">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Murder of McCormick</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page96">96</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Killing Cougars</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page105">105</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Pioneer Child Life</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page113">113</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Marching Experiences of Esther Chambers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page151">151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Olympia Woman&#8217;s Trip Across the Plains in 1851</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page168">168</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Captain Henry Roeder on the Trail</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page177">177</a></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="3">&nbsp;</td></tr>

<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>PART II&mdash;MEN, WOMEN AND ADVENTURES</b></td></tr>

<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Song of the Pioneers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page182">182</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Biographical Notes and Sketches,
John Denny, Sarah Latimer Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page186">186</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">David Thomas Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page203">203</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The First Wedding on Elliot Bay</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page257">257</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Louisa Boren Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page272"> 272</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">V<i>a</i>.&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Madge Decatur Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page288">288</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">V<i>b</i>.&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Anna Louisa Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page294">294</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">V<i>c</i>.&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">William Richard Boren</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page300">300</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Arthur A. Denny, Mary A. Denny</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page305">305</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 10]</span>VII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Henry Van Asselt of Duwamish</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page320">320</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Thomas Mercer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page329">329</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Dr. Henry A. Smith, the Brilliant
Writer</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page344">344</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Famous Indian Chiefs</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page358">358</a></td></tr>
<tr><td colspan="3">&nbsp;</td></tr>

<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>PART III&mdash;INDIAN LIFE AND SETTLERS&#8217; BEGINNINGS</b></td></tr>

<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Savage Deeds of Savage Men</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page391">391</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Pioneer Jokes and Anecdotes</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page415">415</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Trails of Commerce</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page436">436</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Building of the Territorial University</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page452">452</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Chehalis Letter, Penned in</span> &#8217;52</td><td align="right"><a href="#page467">467</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Some Pioneers of Port Townsend</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page479">479</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Personnel of the Pioneer Army</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#page489">489</a></td></tr>
</table></div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 11]</span></p>
<h3>SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS.</h3>

<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" style="width:90%" cellspacing="0" summary="synopsis of incidents">
<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>Part I.</b></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right">Page</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter I&mdash;</td><td align="left">Crossing the Plains&mdash;Names of the Denny Company</td><td align="right"><a href="#page20">20</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Attacked by Indians at American Falls</td><td align="right"><a href="#page27">27</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter II&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Narrow Escape from Going Over the Cascades</td><td align="right"><a href="#page36">36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">About to Sink in the Cold Waters of the Columbia</td><td align="right"><a href="#page38">38</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter III&mdash;</td><td align="left">Tramping a Long Trail</td><td align="right"><a href="#page42">42</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Landing of J. N. Low, D. T. Denny and Lee Terry at Sgwudux (West Seattle)</td><td align="right"><a href="#page43">43</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Exploring the Duwampsh River</td><td align="right"><a href="#page44">44</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Names of Party from "Exact"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page50">50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter IV&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Visit from Wolves</td><td align="right"><a href="#page66">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">A Flight to Fort Decatur</td><td align="right"><a href="#page76"> 76</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Battle of Seattle</td><td align="right"><a href="#page80"> 80</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Story of John I. King&#8217;s Capture</td><td align="right"><a href="#page91"> 91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter V&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Tragedy of the Trail</td><td align="right"><a href="#page98">98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VI&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Hair-raising Hunt for a Cougar</td><td align="right"><a href="#page107">107</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VII&mdash;</td><td align="left">Seeking the Dead Among the Living</td><td align="right"><a href="#page121">121</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">The Strawberry of Memory</td><td align="right"><a href="#page126"> 126</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Three Little Girls and a Pioneer "Fourth"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page131"> 131</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">A Rescue from Drowning</td><td align="right"><a href="#page138">138</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VIII&mdash;</td><td align="left">Frontier Experiences</td><td align="right"><a href="#page151">151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter IX&mdash;</td><td align="left">Placating Indians on the Plains</td><td align="right"><a href="#page171">171</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter X&mdash;</td><td align="left">Capt. Roeder&#8217;s Meeting with the Bandit Joaquin</td><td align="right"><a href="#page180">180</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><span class="pagenum">[Pg 12]</span></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>Part II.</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter I&mdash;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;Song of the Pioneers</td><td align="right"><a href="#page182">182</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter II&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Notable Pioneer Reformer, John Denny</td><td align="right"><a href="#page188">188</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter III&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Tireless Foundation Builder, David Thomas Denny</td><td align="right"><a href="#page203"> 203</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Threats from Anti-Chinese Agitators</td><td align="right"><a href="#page211">211</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">His Own Account of Arrival on Elliott Bay</td><td align="right"><a href="#page214">214</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Surrounded by Indians</td><td align="right"><a href="#page243">243</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Trials and Triumph</td><td align="right"><a href="#page256">256</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter IV&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Lively Celebration of the First Wedding on Elliott Bay</td><td align="right"><a href="#page258">258</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Story of a Bear Hunt</td><td align="right"><a href="#page268"> 268</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter V&mdash;</td><td align="left">Indian Courtship</td><td align="right"><a href="#page275">275</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">On the Day of Battle</td><td align="right"><a href="#page276">276</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VI&mdash;</td><td align="left">Discovery of Shilshole or Salmon Bay</td><td align="right"><a href="#page310"> 310</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">An Escape from Murderous Savages</td><td align="right"><a href="#page313"> 313</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Defense with a Hatchet</td><td align="right"><a href="#page316">316</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VII&mdash;</td><td align="left">Immune Because of Indian Superstition</td><td align="right"><a href="#page323">323</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VIII&mdash;</td><td align="left">Saving an Auburn-haired Girl</td><td align="right"><a href="#page341"> 341</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter IX&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Grand Description of a Vast Forest Fire</td><td align="right"><a href="#page350">350</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"The Mortgage"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page352">352</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"Pacific&#8217;s Pioneers"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page354">354</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter X&mdash;</td><td align="left">Hanging of Leschi</td><td align="right"><a href="#page370">370</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"The Chief&#8217;s Reply"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page388"> 388</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><b>Part III.</b></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter I&mdash;</td><td align="left">Shooting of Lachuse</td><td align="right"><a href="#page392">392</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">The Fight at Fort Nesqually</td><td align="right"><a href="#page395"> 395</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Abbie Casto&#8217;s Fate</td><td align="right"><a href="#page409">409</a><span class="pagenum">[Pg 13]</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter II&mdash;</td><td align="left">How the Old Shell Blew Up a Stump and Cautioned Mr. Horton</td><td align="right"><a href="#page423">423</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Mr. Beaty and the Cheese</td><td align="right"><a href="#page425">425</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter III&mdash;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"The Beaver&#8217;s Requiem"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page436"> 436</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter IV&mdash;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"The Voice of the Old University Bell"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page459"> 459</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter V&mdash;</td><td align="left">Charming Description of Early Days on the Chehalis</td><td align="right"><a href="#page467">467</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VI&mdash;</td><td align="left">Founding of Port Townsend</td><td align="right"><a href="#page481">481</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">Chapter VII&mdash;</td><td align="left">A Number of Noted Names</td><td align="right"><a href="#page489">489</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left">Poem&mdash;"Hail, and Farewell"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page503">503</a></td></tr>
</table></div><p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 14]</span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 15]</span></p>
<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3>

<div class="center">
<table border="0" style="width:90%" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="illustrations">
<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#I">Fort Decatur, Jan. 26, 1856</a></td><td>&nbsp;</td><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right">Frontispiece</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#II">Chips Picked Up</a></td><td align="center">Facing</td><td align="center">page</td><td align="right">17</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#III">Bargaining with Indians at Alki</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">49</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IV">Indian Canoes Sailing with North Wind</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">81</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#V">Log Cabin in the Swale</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">105</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VI">Where We Wandered Long Ago</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">113</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VII">A Visit from Our Tillicum</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">145</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#VIII">Sarah, John and Loretta Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">193</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#IX">David Thomas Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">209</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#X">Sons of L. B. and D. T. Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">241</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XI">Louisa B. Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">257</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XII">A Flower Garden Planted by L. B. Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">273</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIII">Daughters of D. T. and L. B. Denny</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">289</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIV">Erythronium of Lake Union</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">337</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XV">Types of Indian Houses</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">369</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVI">Last Voyage of the Lumei</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">385</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVII">A Few Artifacts of P. S. Indians</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">401</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XVIII">Ship Belle Isle</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">481</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XIX">Rev. Blaine, C. D. and Wm. R. Boren</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">489</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#XX">Mrs. L. C. Low</a></td><td align="center">"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right">493</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 16]</span></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p>
<h2>BLAZING THE WAY</h2>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p class="title"><big>PART I.&mdash;THE GREAT MARCH</big></p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<h2>CHAPTER I<br />

<span class="smaller">CROSSING THE PLAINS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">With Faith&#8217;s clear eye we saw afar</span>
<span class="i0">In western sky our empire&#8217;s star,</span>
<span class="i0">And strong of heart and brave of soul,</span>
<span class="i0">We marched and marched to reach the goal.</span>
<span class="i0">Unrolled a scroll, the great, gray plains,</span>
<span class="i0">And traced thereon our wagon trains;</span>
<span class="i0">Our blazing campfires marked the road</span>
<span class="i0">As night succeeding night they glowed.</span>

<p class="quotsig">&mdash;Song of the Pioneers.</p>
</div>


<p>The noble army of courageous, enduring,
persistent, progressive pioneers who from time
to time were found threading their way across
the illimitable wilderness, forty or fifty years
ago, in detached companies, often unknown and
unknowing each other, have proved conclusively
that an age of marvelous heroism is but recently
past.</p>

<p><a id="II" name="II"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 427px;">
<img src="images/opp017.png" width="427" height="450" alt="" title="CHIPS PICKED UP AFTER BLAZING THE WAY" />
<span class="caption">&#8220;CHIPS PICKED UP AFTER BLAZING THE WAY&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>The knowledge, foresight, faith and force
exhibited by many of these daring men and
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 18]</span>women proclaimed them endowed with the
genius of conquerors.</p>

<p>The merely physical aspect of the undertaking
is overpowering. To transport themselves
and their effects in slow and toilsome
ways, through hundreds of miles of weary
wilderness, uninhabited except by foes, over
beetling mountain ranges, across swift and dangerous
rivers, through waterless deserts, in the
shadow of continual dread, required a fortitude
and staying power seldom equaled in the history
of human effort.</p>

<p>But above and beyond all this, they carried
the profound convictions of Christian men and
women, of patriots and martyrs. They battled
with the forces of Nature and implacable
enemies; they found, too, that their moral battles
must be openly fought year after year, often in
the face of riotous disregard of the laws of God
and man. Arrived at their journey&#8217;s end, they
planted the youngest scions of the Tree of Liberty;
they founded churches and schools, carefully
keeping the traditions of civilization, yet
in many things finding greater and truer freedom
than they had left behind.</p>

<p>The noblest of epics, masterpieces of painting,
stupendous operas or the grandest spectacular
drama could but meagerly or feebly express
the characters, experiences and environment of
those who crossed the plains for the Pacific slope
in the midst of the nineteenth century.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 19]</span></p>
<div class="poem" style="width:28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;A mighty nation moving west,</span>
<span class="i0">With all its steely sinews set</span>
<span class="i0">Against the living forests. Hear</span>
<span class="i0">The shouts, the shots of pioneers!</span>
<span class="i0">The rended forests, rolling wheels,</span>
<span class="i0">As if some half-checked army reels,</span>
<span class="i0">Recoils, redoubles, comes again,</span>
<span class="i0">Loud-sounding like a hurricane.&#8221;</span>

<p class="quotsig">&mdash;Joaquin Miller.</p>
</div>

<p>It is my intention to speak more especially
of one little company who were destined to take
a prominent part in the laying of foundations in
the State of Washington.</p>

<p>Previous to 1850, glowing accounts of the
fertility, mildness, beauty and general desirability
of Oregon Territory, which then included
Washington, reached the former friends and acquaintances
of Farley Pierce, Liberty Wallace,
the Rudolphs and others who wrote letters concerning
this favored land. Added to the impression
made thereby, the perusal of Fremont&#8217;s
travels, the desire for a change of climate from
the rigorous one of Illinois, the possession of a
pioneering spirit and the resolution was taken,
&#8220;To the far Pacific Coast we will go;&#8221; acting
upon it, they took their places in the great movement
having for its watchword, &#8220;Westward
Ho!&#8221;</p>

<p>John Denny, a Kentuckian by birth, a pioneer
of Indiana and Illinois, whose record as a
soldier of 1812, a legislator in company and fraternal
relations with Lincoln, Baker, Gates and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
Trumbull, distinguished him for the most admirable
qualities, was the leading spirit; his
wife, Sarah Latimer Denny, a Tennessean,
thrifty, wise, faithful and far-seeing, who had
for many widowed years previous to her marriage
to John Denny, wrought out success in
making a home and educating her three children
in Illinois, was a fit leader of pioneer women.</p>

<p>These, with their grown-up sons and daughters,
children and grandchildren, began the great
journey across the plains, starting from Cherry
Grove, Knox County, Illinois, on April 10th,
1851. Four &#8220;prairie schooners,&#8221; as the canvas-covered
wagons were called, three of them drawn
by four-horse teams, one with a single span, a
few saddle horses and two faithful watchdogs,
whose value is well known to those who have
traveled the wilds, made up the train.</p>

<p>The names of these brave-hearted ones,
ready to dare and endure all, are as follows:</p>

<p>John Denny, Sarah Latimer Denny and their
little daughter, Loretta; A. A. Denny, Mary A.
Denny and their two children, Catherine and
Lenora; C. D. Boren, Mrs. Boren and their
daughter, Gertrude; the only unmarried woman,
Miss Louisa Boren, sister of Mrs. A. A. Denny
and C. D. Boren; C. Crawford and family; four
unmarried sons of John Denny, D. T. Denny,
James, Samuel and Wiley Denny.</p>

<p>The wrench of parting with friends made
a deep and lasting wound; no doubt every old<span class="pagenum">[Pg 21]</span>
pioneer of the Pacific Coast can recall the
anguish of that parting, whose scars the healing
years have never effaced.</p>

<p>The route followed by our pioneers was the
old emigrant road along the north side of the
Platte River, down the Columbia and up the
Willamette to Portland, Oregon Territory,
which they afterwards left for their ultimate
destination, Puget Sound, where they found
Nature so bountiful, a climate so moderate and
their surroundings so ennobling that I have
often heard them say they had no wish to return
to dwell in the country from whence they came.</p>

<p>Past the last sign of civilization, the Mormon
town of Kanesville, a mile or two east of
the Missouri River, the prairie schooners were
fairly out at sea. The great Missouri was
crossed at Council Bluffs by ferryboat on the
5th of May. The site of the now populous city
of Omaha was an untrodden waste. From thence
they followed the beaten track of the many who
had preceded them to California and Oregon.</p>

<p>Hundreds of wagons had ground their way
over the long road before them, and beside this
road stretched the narrower beaten track of the
ox-drivers.</p>

<p>On the Platte, shortly after crossing the
Missouri, a violent thunderstorm with sheets of
rain fell upon them at night, blowing down their
tents and saturating their belongings, thereby
causing much discomfort and inconvenience. Of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 22]</span>
necessity the following day was spent in drying
out the whole equipment.</p>

<p>It served as a robust initiation in roughing
it; up to that time they had carefully dressed in
white night robes and lay down in neatly made
beds, but many a night after this storm were
glad to rest in the easiest way possible, when
worn by travel and too utterly weary of the long
day&#8217;s heat and dust, with grinding and bumping
of wheels, to think of the niceties of dainty living.</p>

<p>For a time spring smiled on all the land;
along the Platte the prairies stretched away on
either hand, delightfully green and fresh, on the
horizon lay fleecy white clouds, islands of vapor
in the ethereal azure sea above; but summer came
on apace and the landscape became brown and
parched.</p>

<p>The second day west of the Missouri our
train fell in with a long line of eighteen wagons
drawn by horses, and fraternizing with the occupants,
joined in one company. This new company
elected John Denny as Captain. It did not
prove a harmonious combination, however; discord
arose, and nowhere does it seem to arise so
easily as in camp. There was disagreement
about standing guard; fault was found with the
Captain and another was elected, but with no
better results. Our pioneers found it convenient
and far pleasanter to paddle their own canoes,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 23]</span>
or rather prairie schooners, and so left the contentious
ones behind.</p>

<p>Long days of travel followed over the monotonous
expanse of prairie, each with scarcely
varying incidents, toils and dangers. The stir
of starting in the morning, the morning forward
movement, the halt for the noonday meal, cooked
over a fire of buffalo chips, and the long, weary
afternoon of heat and dust whose passing
brought the welcome night, marked the journey
through the treeless region.</p>

<p>At one of the noonings, the hopes of the
party in a gastronomic line were woefully disappointed.
A pailful of choice home-dried
peaches, cooked with much care, had been set on
a wagon tongue to cool and some unlucky movement
precipitated the whole luscious, juicy mass
into the sand below. It was an occurrence to
make the visage lengthen, so far, far distant were
the like of them from the hungry travelers.</p>

<p>Fuel was scarce a large part of the way until
west of Fort Laramie, the pitch pine in the Black
Hills made such fires as delight the hearts of
campers. In a stretch of two hundred miles but
one tree was seen, a lone elm by the river Platte,
which was finally cut down and the limbs used
for firewood. When near this tree, the train
camped over Sunday, and our party first saw
buffaloes, a band of perhaps twenty. D. T.
Denny and C. D. Boren of the party went hunting
in the hills three miles from the camp but<span class="pagenum">[Pg 24]</span>
other hunters had been among them and scattered
the band, killing only one or two; however
they generously divided the meat with the
new arrivals. Our two good hunters determined
to get one if possible and tried stalking a shaggy-maned
beast that was separated from the herd,
a half mile from their horses left picketed on
the grassy plain. Shots were fired at him without
effect and he ran away unhurt, fortunately
for himself as well as his pursuers. One of the
hunters, D. T. Denny, said it might have been a
very serious matter for them to have been
charged by a wounded buffalo out on the treeless
prairie where a man had nothing to dodge
behind but his own shadow.</p>

<p>On the prairie before they reached Fort
Laramie a blinding hailstorm pelted the travelers.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny, who was driving a four-horse
team in the teeth of the storm, relates that the
poor animals were quite restive, no doubt suffering
much from their shelterless condition. They
had been well provided for as to food; their
drivers carried corn which lasted for two hundred
miles. The rich grass of five hundred miles
of prairie afforded luxurious living beyond this,
and everywhere along the streams where camp
was made there was an abundance of fresh herbage
to be found.</p>

<p>Many lonely graves were seen, graves of
pioneers, with hopes as high, mayhap, as any,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 25]</span>
but who pitched their silent tents in the wilderness
to await the Judgment Day.</p>

<p>A deep solemnity fell upon the living as the
train wound along, where on the side of a mountain
was a lone grave heaped up with stones to
protect it from the ravages of wolves. Tall pines
stood around it and grass and flowers adorned
it with nature&#8217;s broidery. Several joined in singing
an old song beginning</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;I came to the place</span>
<span class="i0">Where the white pilgrim lay,</span>
<span class="i0">And pensively stood by his tomb,</span>
<span class="i0">When in a low whisper I heard something say,</span>
<span class="i0">&#8216;How sweetly I sleep here alone.&#8217;&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>Echoed only by the rustling of the boughs of
scattered pines, moving gently in the wind.</p>

<p>As they approached the upheaved mountainous
country, lively interest, a keen delight in
the novelty of their surroundings, and surprise
at unexpected features were aroused in the minds
of the travelers.</p>

<p>A thoughtful one has said that the weird
beauty of the Wind River Mountains impressed
her deeply, their image has never left her memory
and if she were an artist she could faithfully
represent them on canvas.</p>

<p>A surprise to the former prairie dwellers
was the vast extent of the mountains, their imaginations
having projected the sort of mountain
range that is quite rare, a single unbroken ridge<span class="pagenum">[Pg 26]</span>
traversed by climbing up one side and going down
the other! But they found this process must be
repeated an indefinite number of times and over
such roughness as their imaginations had never
even suggested.</p>

<p>What grinding, heaving and bumping over
huge boulders! What shouting and urging of
animals, what weary hours of tortured endurance
dragged along! One of them remembers,
too, perhaps vaguely, the suffering induced by an
attack of the mysterious mountain fever.</p>

<p>The desert also imposed its tax of misery.
Only at night could the desert be safely crossed.
Starting at four o&#8217;clock in the afternoon they
traveled all the following night over an arid,
desolate region, the Green River desert, thirty
miles, a strange journey in the dimness of a
summer night with only the star-lamps overhead.
In sight of the river, the animals made a rush
for the water and ran in to drink, taking the
wagons with them.</p>

<p>Often the names of the streams crossed were
indicative of their character, suggestive of adventure
or descriptive of their surroundings.
Thus &#8220;Sweetwater&#8221; speaks eloquently of the refreshing
draughts that slaked the thirst in contrast
with the alkaline waters that were bitter;
Burnt River flowed past the blackened remains
of an ancient forest and Bear River may have
been named for the ponderous game secured by
a lucky hunter.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27">[Pg 27]</a></span>By July of 1851 the train reached Old Fort
Hall, composed of a stockade and log houses,
situated on the Snake River, whose flood set toward
the long-sought Pacific shore.</p>

<p>While camped about a mile from the fort the
Superintendent wrote for them directions for
camping places where wood and water could be
obtained, extending over the whole distance from
Fort Hall to the Dalles of the Columbia River.
He told James Denny, brother of D. T. Denny,
that if they met Indians they must on no account
stop at their call, saying that the Indians of that
vicinity were renegade Shoshones and horse
thieves.</p>

<p>On the morning of the fifth of July an old
Indian visited the camp, but no significance was
attached to the incident, and all were soon moving
quietly along in sight of the Snake River;
the road lay on the south side of the river, which
is there about two hundred yards wide. An encampment
of Indians was observed, on the north
side of the river, as they wound along by the
American Falls, but no premonition of danger
was felt, on the contrary, they were absorbed in
the contemplation of the falls and basin below.
Dark objects were seen to be moving on the surface
of the wide pool and all supposed them to
be ducks disporting themselves after the manner
of harmless water fowl generally. What was
their astonishment to behold them swiftly and
simultaneously approach the river bank, spring<span class="pagenum">[Pg 28]</span>
out of the water and reveal themselves full grown
savages!</p>

<p>With guns and garments, but few of the
latter probably, on their heads, they swam across
and climbed up the bank to the level of the
sage brush plain. The leader, attired in a plug
hat and long, black overcoat flapping about his
sinewy limbs, gun in hand, advanced toward the
train calling out, &#8220;How-de-do! How-de-do! Stop!
Stop!&#8221; twice repeating the words. The Captain,
Grandfather John Denny, answered &#8220;Go back,&#8221;
emphasizing the order by vigorous gestures.
Mindful of the friendly caution of the Superintendent
at Fort Hall, the train moved on. The
gentleman of the plains retired to his band, who
dodged back behind the sagebrush and began
firing at the train. One bullet threw up the dust
under the horse ridden by one of the company.
The frightened women and children huddled
down as low as possible in the bottoms of the
wagons, expecting the shots to penetrate the canvas
walls of their moving houses. In the last
wagon, in the most exposed position, one of the
mothers sat pale and trembling like an aspen
leaf; the fate of the young sister and two little
daughters in the event of capture, beside the
danger of her own immediate death were too
dreadful to contemplate. In their extremity one
said, &#8220;O, why don&#8217;t they hurry! If I were driving
I would lay on the lash!&#8221;</p>

<p>When the Indians found that their shots<span class="pagenum">[Pg 29]</span>
took no effect, they changed their tactics and ran
down along the margin of the river under shelter
of the bank, to head off the train at a point where
it must go down one hill and up another. There
were seven men with five rifles and two rifle-pistols,
but these would have been of little avail
if the teams had been disabled. D. T. Denny
drove the forward wagon, having one rifle and
the pistols; three of the men were not armed.</p>

<p>All understood the maneuver of the Indians
and were anxious to hurry the teams unless it
was Captain John Denny, who was an old soldier
and may have preferred to fight.</p>

<p>Sarah Denny, his wife, looked out and saw
the Indians going down the river; no doubt she
urged him to whip up. The order was given and
after moments that seemed hours, down the long
hill they rushed pell-mell, without lock or brake,
the prairie schooners tossing like their namesakes
on a stormy sea. What a breathless, panting,
nightmare it seemed! If an axle had broken or a
linchpin loosened the race would have been lost.
But on, madly careening past the canyon where
the Indians intended to intercept them, tearing
up the opposite hill with desperate energy, expecting
every moment to hear the blood-curdling
warwhoop, nor did they slacken their speed to
the usual pace for the remainder of the day. As
night approached, the welcome light of a campfire,
that of J. N. Low&#8217;s company, induced them
to stop. This camp was on a level near a bluff;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 30]</span>
a narrow deep stream flowed by into the Snake
River not far away. The cattle were corraled,
with the wagons in a circle and a fire of brushwood
built in the center.</p>

<p>Around the Denny company&#8217;s campfire, the
women who prepared the evening meal were in
momentary fear of receiving a shot from an ambushed
foe, lit as they were against the darkness,
but happily their fears were not realized.
Weary as the drivers were, guards were posted
and watched all night. The dogs belonging to
the train were doubtless a considerable protection,
as they would have given the alarm had the
enemy approached.</p>

<p>One of the women went down to the brook
the next morning to get water for the camp and
saw the tracks of Indian ponies in the dust on the
opposite side of the stream. Evidently they had
followed the train to that point, but feared to attack
the united forces of the two camps.</p>

<p>After this race for life the men stood guard
every night; one of them, D. T. Denny, was on
duty one-half of every other night and alternately
slept on the ground under one of the wagons.</p>

<p>This was done until they reached the Cayuse
country. On Burnt River they met thirty warriors,
the advance guard of their tribe who were
moving, women, children, drags and dogs. The
Indians were friendly and cheeringly announced
&#8220;Heap sleep now; we are <i>good</i> Indians.&#8221;</p>

<p>The Denny and Low trains were well pleased<span class="pagenum">[Pg 31]</span>
to join their forces and traveled as one company
until they reached their journey&#8217;s end.</p>

<p>The day after the Indian attack, friendly
visits were made and Mrs. J. N. Low recalls that
she saw two women of Denny&#8217;s company frying
cakes and doughnuts over the campfire, while
two others were well occupied with the youngest
of the travelers, who were infants.</p>

<p>There were six men and two women in Low&#8217;s
company and when the two companies joined
they felt quite strong and traveled unmolested
the remainder of the way.</p>

<p>An exchange of experiences brought out the
fact that Low&#8217;s company had crossed the Missouri
the third day of May and had traveled on
the south side of the Platte at the same time the
Denny company made their way along the
north side of the same stream.</p>

<p>At a tributary called Big Blue, as Mrs. Low
relates, she observed the clouds rolling up and
admonished her husband to whip up or they
would not be able to cross for days if they delayed;
they crossed, ascended the bluffs where
there was a semicircle of trees, loosed the cattle
and picketed the horses. By evening the storm
reached them with lightning, heavy thunder and
great piles of hail. The next morning the water
had risen half way up tall trees.</p>

<p>The Indians stole the lead horse of one of the
four-horse teams and Mrs. Low rode the other on
a man&#8217;s saddle. Many western equestriennes<span class="pagenum">[Pg 32]</span>
have learned to be not too particular as to horse,
habit or saddle and have proven also the greater
safety and convenience of cross-saddle riding.</p>

<p>In the Black Hills while traveling along the
crest of a high ridge, where to get out of the road
would have been disastrous, the train was met by
a band of Indians on ponies, who pressed up to
the wagons in a rather embarrassing way, bent
apparently upon riding between and separating
the teams, but the drivers were too wise to permit
this and kept close together, without stopping
to parley with them, and after riding alongside
for some distance, the designing but baffled redskins
withdrew.</p>

<p>The presence of the native inhabitants sometimes
proved a convenience; especially was this
true of the more peaceable tribes of the far west.
On the Umatilla River the travelers were glad
to obtain the first fresh vegetable since leaving
the cultivated gardens and fields of their old
homes months before. One of the women traded
a calico apron for green peas, which were regarded
as a great treat and much enjoyed.</p>

<p>Farther on, as they neared the Columbia,
Captain Low, who was riding ahead of the train,
met Indians with salmon, eager to purchase so
fine a fish and not wishing to stop the wagon,
pulled off an overshirt over his head and exchanged
it for the piscatorial prize.</p>

<p>The food that had sustained them on the
long march was almost military in its simplic<span class="pagenum">[Pg 33]</span>ity.
Corn meal, flour, rice (a little, as it was not
then in common use), beans, bacon and dried
fruits were the main dependence. They could
spend but little time hunting and fishing. On
Bear River &#8220;David&#8221; and &#8220;Louisa&#8221; each caught
a trout, fine, speckled beauties. &#8220;David&#8221; and
the other hunters of the company also killed sage
hens, antelope and buffalo.</p>

<p>After leaving the Missouri River they had
no opportunity to buy anything until they
reached the Snake River, where they purchased
some dried salmon of the Indians.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II<br />

<span class="smaller">DOWN THE COLUMBIA IN &#8217;51.</span></h2>

<p>After eighty days travel over one thousand
seven hundred sixty-five miles of road these
weary pilgrims reached the mighty river of the
West, the vast Columbia.</p>

<p>At The Dalles, the road Across the Plains
was finished, from thence the great waterways
would lead them to their journey&#8217;s end.</p>

<p>It was there the immigrants first feasted on
the delicious river salmon, fresh from the foaming
waters. The Indians boiled theirs, making
a savory soup, the odor of which would almost
have fed a hungry man; the white people cooked
goodly pieces in the trusty camp frying pan.</p>

<p>Not then accustomed to such finny monsters,
they found a comparison for the huge cuts as
like unto sides of pork, and a receptacle for the
giant&#8217;s morsels in a seaworthy washingtub. However,
high living will pall unto the taste; one may
really tire of an uninterrupted piscatorial banquet,
and one of the company, A. A. Denny, declared
his intention of introducing some variety
in the bill of fare. &#8220;Plague take it,&#8221; he said,
&#8220;I&#8217;m tired of salmon&mdash;I&#8217;m going to have some
chicken.&#8221;</p>

<p>But alas! the gallinaceous fowl, roaming
freely at large, had also feasted frequently on<span class="pagenum">[Pg 35]</span>
fragments no longer fresh of the overplus of salmon,
and its flavor was indescribable, wholly impossible,
as the French say. It was &#8220;fishy&#8221; fish
rather than fowl.</p>

<p>At The Dalles the company divided, one
party composed of a majority of the men started
over the mountains with the wagons and teams;
the women and children prepared to descend the
river in boats.</p>

<p>In one boat, seated on top of the &#8220;plunder&#8221;
were Mrs. A. A. Denny and two children, Miss
Louisa Boren, Mrs. Low and four children and
Mrs. Boren and one child. The other boat was
loaded in like manner with a great variety of useful
and necessary articles, heaped up, on top of
which sat several women and children, among
whom were Mrs. Sarah Denny, grandmother of
the writer, and her little daughter, Loretta.</p>

<p>A long summer day was spent in floating
down the great canyon where the majestic Columbia
cleaves the Cascade Range in twain. The
succeeding night the first boat landed on an
island in the river, and the voyagers went ashore
to camp. During the night one of the little girls,
Gertrude Boren, rolled out of her bed and narrowly
escaped falling into the hurrying stream;
had she done so she must have certainly been
lost, but a kind Providence decreed otherwise.
Re-embarking the following day, gliding swiftly
on the current, they traversed a considerable<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
distance and the second night approached the
Cascades.</p>

<p>Swifter and more turbulent, the rushing
flood began to break in more furious foam-wreaths
on every jagged rock, impotently striving
to stay its onward rush to the limitless ocean.</p>

<p>Sufficient light enabled the observing eye to
perceive the writhing surface of the angry waters,
but the boatmen were stupified with drink!</p>

<p>All day long they had passed a bottle about
which contained a liquid facetiously called &#8220;Blue
Ruin&#8221; and near enough their ruin it proved.</p>

<p>I have penned the following description
which met with the approval of one of the principal
actors in what so nearly proved a tragedy:</p>

<p>It was midnight on the mighty Columbia.
A waning moon cast a glowworm light on the
dark, rushing river; all but one of the weary women
and tired little children were deeply sunken
in sleep. The oars creaked and dipped monotonously;
the river sang louder and louder every
boat&#8217;s length. Drunken, bloated faces leered
foolishly and idiotically; they admonished each
other to &#8220;Keep &#8217;er goin&#8217;.&#8221;</p>

<p>The solitary watcher stirred uneasily, looked
at the long lines of foam out in midstream and
saw how fiercely the white waves contended, and
far swifter flew the waters than at any hour before.
What was the meaning of it? Hark! that
humming, buzzing, hissing, nay, bellowing roar!
The blood flew to her brain and made her senses<span class="pagenum">[Pg 37]</span>
reel; they must be nearing the last landing above
the falls, the great Cascades of the Columbia.</p>

<p>But the crew gave no heed.</p>

<p>Suddenly she cried out sharply to her sleeping
sister, &#8220;Mary! Mary! wake up! we are nearing
the falls, I hear them roar.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What is it, Liza?&#8221; she said sleepily.</p>

<p>&#8220;O, wake up! we shall all be drowned, the
men don&#8217;t know what they are doing.&#8221;</p>

<p>The rudely awakened sleepers seemed dazed
and did not make much outcry, but a strong
young figure climbed over the mass of baggage
and confronting the drunken boatmen, plead,
urged and besought them, if they considered
their own lives, or their helpless freight of humanity,
to make for the shore.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oh, men,&#8221; she pleaded, &#8220;don&#8217;t you hear the
falls, they roar louder now. It will soon be too
late, I beseech you turn the boat to shore. Look
at the rapids beyond us!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Thar haint no danger, Miss, leastways not
yet; wots all this fuss about anyhow? No danger,&#8221;
answered one who was a little disturbed;
the others were almost too much stupified to understand
her words and stood staring at the bareheaded,
black haired young woman as if she were
an apparition and were no more alarmed than
if the warning were given as a curious mechanical
performance, having no reference to themselves.</p>

<p>Repeating her request with greater earnestness,
if possible, a man&#8217;s voice broke in saying,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
&#8220;I believe she is right, put in men quick, none of
us want to be drowned.&#8221;</p>

<p>Fortunately this penetrated their besotted
minds and they put about in time to save the lives
of all on board, although they landed some distance
below the usual place.</p>

<p>A little farther and they would have been
past all human help.</p>

<p>One of the boatmen cheerfully acknowledged
the next day that if it &#8220;hadn&#8217;t been fur that purty
girl they had a&#8217; gone over them falls, shure.&#8221;</p>

<p>The other boat had a similar experience; it
began to leak profusely before they had gone
very far and would soon have sunk, had not the
crew, who doubtless were sober, made all haste to
land.</p>

<p>My grandmother has often related to me
how she clapsed her little child to her heart and
resigned herself to a fate which seemed inevitable;
also of a Mrs. McCarthy, a passenger likewise,
becoming greatly excited and alternately
swearing and praying until the danger was past.
An inconvenient but amusing feature was the
soaked condition of the &#8220;plunder&#8221; and the way
the shore and shrubbery thereon were decorated
with &#8220;hiyu ictas,&#8221; as the Chinook has it, hung
out to dry. Finding it impossible to proceed,
this detachment returned and took the mountain
road.</p>

<p>A tramway built by F. A. Chenoweth, around
the great falls, afforded transportation for the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 39]</span>
baggage of the narrowly saved first described.
There being no accommodations for passengers,
the party walked the tramroad; at the terminus
they unloaded and stayed all night. No &#8220;commodious
and elegant&#8221; steamer awaited them, but
an old brig, bound for Portland, received them
and their effects.</p>

<p>Such variety of adventure had but recently
crowded upon them that it was almost fearfully
they re-embarked. A. A. Denny observed to
Captain Low, &#8220;Look here, Low, they say women
are scarce in Oregon and we had better be careful
of ours.&#8221; Presumably they were, as both
survive at the present day.</p>

<p>From a proud ranger of the dashing main,
the old brig had come down to be a carrier of salt
salmon packed in barrels, and plunder of immigrants;
as for the luckless passengers, they accommodated
themselves as best they could.</p>

<p>The small children were tied to the mast to
keep them from falling overboard, as there were
no bulwarks.</p>

<p>Beds were made below on the barrels before
mentioned and the travel-worn lay down,
but not to rest; the mosquitos were a bloodthirsty
throng and the beds were likened unto a corduroy
road.</p>

<p>One of the women grumbled a little and an
investigation proved that it was, as her husband
said, &#8220;Nothing but the tea-kettle&#8221; wedged in between
the barrels.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 40]</span>Another lost a moccasin overboard and having
worn out all her shoes on the way, went with
one stockinged foot until they turned up the
Willamette River, then went ashore to a farmhouse
where she was so fortunate as to find the
owner of a new pair of shoes which she bought,
and was thus able to enter the &#8220;city&#8221; of Portland
in appropriate footgear.</p>

<p>After such vicissitudes, dangers and anxiety,
the little company were glad to tarry in the embryo
metropolis for a brief season; then, having
heard of fairer shores, the restless pioneers
moved on.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III<br />

<span class="smaller">THE SETTLEMENT AT ALKI.</span></h2>

<p>Midway between Port Townsend and Olympia,
in full view looking west from the city of
Seattle, is a long tongue of land, washed by the
sparkling waves of Puget Sound, called Alki
Point. It helps to make Elliott Bay a beautiful
land-locked harbor and is regarded with interest
as being the site of the first settlement by white
people in King County in what was then the
Territory of Oregon. <i>Alki</i> is an Indian word
pronounced with the accent on the first syllable,
which is <i>al</i> as in altitude; <i>ki</i> is spoken as <i>ky</i> in
silky. Alki means &#8220;by and by.&#8221;</p>

<p>It doth truly fret the soul of the old settler
to see it printed and hear it pronounced Al-ki.</p>

<p>The first movement toward its occupancy
was on this wise: A small detachment of the
advancing column of settlers, D. T. Denny and
J. N. Low, left Portland on the Willamette, on
the 10th of September, 1851, with two horses
carrying provisions and camp outfit.</p>

<p>These men walked to the Columbia River to
round up a band of cattle belonging to Low. The
cattle were ferried over the river at Vancouver
and from thence driven over the old Hudson Bay
Company&#8217;s trail to the mouth of Cowlitz River,
a tributary of the Columbia, up the Cowlitz to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
Warbass Landing and on to Ford&#8217;s prairie, a
wide and rich one, where the band were left to
graze on the luxuriant pasturage.</p>

<p>On a steep, rocky trail along the Cowlitz
River, Denny was following along not far behind
a big, yellow ox that was scrambling up, trying
vainly to get a firm foothold, when Low, foreseeing
calamity, called to him to &#8220;Look out!&#8221;
Denny swerved a little from the path and at that
moment the animal lost its footing and came tumbling
past them, rolling over several times until
it landed on a lower level, breaking off one of its
horns. Here was a narrow escape although not
from a wild beast. They could not then stop to
secure the animal although it was restored to the
flock some time after.</p>

<p>From Ford&#8217;s prairie, although footsore and
weary, they kept on their way until Olympia was
reached. It was a long tramp of perhaps two
hundred fifty miles, the exact distance could not
be ascertained as the trail was very winding.</p>

<p>As described by one of our earliest historians,
Olympia then consisted of about a dozen
one-story frame cabins, covered with split cedar
siding, well ventilated and healthy, and perhaps
twice as many Indian huts near the custom house,
as Olympia was then the port of entry for Puget
Sound.</p>

<p>The last mentioned structure afforded space
on the ground floor for a store, with a small room
partitioned off for a postoffice.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43">[Pg 43]</a></span>Our two pioneers found here Lee Terry, who
had been engaged in loading a sailing vessel with
piles. He fell in with the two persistent pedestrians
and thus formed a triumvirate of conquerors
of a new world. The pioneers tarried not in
the embryo city but pushed on farther down the
great Inland Sea.</p>

<p>With Captain Fay and several others they
embarked in an open boat, the Captain, who
owned the boat, intending to purchase salmon of
the Indians for the San Francisco market. Fay
was an old whaling captain. He afterwards
married Mrs. Alexander, a widow of Whidby
Island, and lived there until his death.</p>

<p>The little party spent their first night on the
untrod shores of Sgwudux, the Indian name of
the promontory now occupied by West Seattle,
landing on the afternoon of September 25th,
1851, and sleeping that night under the protecting
boughs of a giant cedar tree.</p>

<p>On the 26th, Low, Denny and Terry hired
two young Indians of Chief Sealth&#8217;s (Seattle&#8217;s)
tillicum (people), who were camped near by, to
take them up the Duwampsh River in a canoe.
Safely seated, the paddles dipped and away they
sped over the dancing waves. The weather was
fair, the air clear and a magnificent panorama
spread around them. The whole forest-clad encircling
shores of Elliott Bay, untouched by fire
or ax, the tall evergreens thickly set in a dense
mass to the water&#8217;s edge stood on every hand.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
The great white dome of Mount Rainier, 14,444
feet high, before them, toward which they traveled;
behind them, stretched along the western
horizon, Towiat or Olympics, a grand range of
snow-capped mountains whose foothills were covered
with a continuous forest.</p>

<p>Entering the Duwampsh River and ascending
for several miles they reached the farther
margin of a prairie where Low and Terry, having
landed, set out over an Indian trail through
the woods, to look at the country, while Denny
followed on the river with the Indians. On and
on they went until Denny became anxious and
fired off his gun but received neither shot nor
shout in answer. The day waned, it was growing
dark, and as he returned the narrow deep river
took on a melancholy aspect, the great forest was
gloomy with unknown fears, and he was alone
with strange, wild men whose language was almost
unintelligible. Nevertheless, he landed and
camped with them at a place known afterward
as the Maple Prairie.</p>

<p>Morning of the 27th of September saw them
paddling up the river again in search of the other
two explorers, whom they met coming down in a
canoe. They had kept on the trail until an Indian
camp was reached at the junction of Black
and Duwampsh Rivers the night before. All
returned to Sgwudux, their starting point, to
sleep under the cedar tree another night.</p>

<p>On the evening of the 27th a scow appeared<span class="pagenum">[Pg 45]</span>
and stopped near shore where the water was
quite deep. Two women on board conversed with
Captain Fay in Chinook, evidently quite proud
of their knowledge of the trade jargon of the
Northwest. The scow moved on up Elliott Bay,
entered Duwampsh River and ascended it to the
claim of L. M. Collins, where another settlement
sprang into existence.</p>

<p>On the 28th the pioneers moved their camp
to Alki Point or Sma-qua-mox as it was named
by the Indians.</p>

<p>Captain Fay returned from down the Sound
on the forenoon of the 28th. That night, as they
sat around the campfire, the pioneers talked of
their projected building and the idea of split stuff
was advanced, when Captain Fay remarked,
&#8220;Well, I think a log house is better in an Indian
country.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Why, do you think there is any danger
from the Indians?&#8221; he was quickly asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; he replied, with a sly twinkle in his
eye, &#8220;It would keep off the stray bullets when
they <i>poo mowich</i>&#8221; (shoot deer).</p>

<p>These hints, coupled with subsequent experiences,
awoke the anxiety of D. T. Denny, who
soon saw that there were swarms of savages to
the northward. Those near by were friendly,
but what of those farther away?</p>

<p>One foggy morning, when the distance was
veiled in obscurity, the two young white men,
Lee and David, were startled to see a big canoe<span class="pagenum">[Pg 46]</span>
full of wild Indians from away down the Sound
thrust right out of the dense fog; they landed
and came ashore; the chief was a tall, brawny fellow
with a black beard. They were very impudent,
crowding on them and trying to get into the
little brush tent, but Lee Terry stood in the door-way
leaning, or braced rather, against the tree
upon which one end of the frail habitation was
fastened. The white men succeeded in avoiding
trouble but they felt inwardly rather &#8220;shaky&#8221;
and were much relieved when their rude visitors
departed. These Indians were Skagits.</p>

<p>The brush shelter referred to was made of
boughs laid over a pole placed in the crotch of
another pole at one end, the other end being held
by a crotch fastened to a tree. In it was placed
their scanty outfit and supplies, and there they
slept while the cabin was building.</p>

<p>A townsite was located and named &#8220;New
York,&#8221; which no doubt killed the place, exotics
do not thrive in the Northwest; however, the
name was after changed to Alki.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny and Lee Terry were left to
take care of the &#8220;townsite&#8221; while J. N. Low returned
with Captain Fay to Olympia and footed
it over the trail again to the Columbia. He carried
with him a letter to A. A. Denny in Portland,
remarkable as the first one penned by D. T.
Denny on Puget Sound, also in that upon it and
the account given by Low depended the decision
of the rest of the party to settle on the shores of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 47]</span>
the great Inland Sea. The substance of the letter
was, &#8220;Come as soon as you can; we have found a
valley that will accommodate one thousand families,&#8221;
referring to that of the Duwampsh River.</p>

<p>These two, David T. Denny and Lee Terry,
proceeded to lay the foundation of the first cabin
built on Elliott Bay and also the first in King
County. Their only tools were an ax and a hammer.
The logs were too heavy for the two white
men to handle by themselves, and after they were
cut, passing Indians, muscular braves, were
called on to assist, which they willingly did, Mr.
Denny giving them bread as a reward, the same
being an unaccustomed luxury to them.</p>

<p>Several days after the foundation was laid,
L. M. Collins and &#8220;Nesqually John,&#8221; an Indian,
passed by the camp and rising cabin, driving
oxen along the beach, on their way to the claim
selected by Collins on the fertile banks of the
Duwampsh River.</p>

<p>When D. T. Denny and Lee Terry wrote
their names on the first page of our history, they
could not fully realize the import of their every
act, yet no doubt they were visionary. Sleeping
in their little brush tent at night, what dreams
may have visited them! Dreams, perhaps, of
fleets of white-winged ships with the commerce
of many nations, of busy cities, of throngs of people.
Probably they set about chopping down the
tall fir trees in a cheerful mood, singing and
whistling to the astonishment of the pine squir<span class="pagenum">[Pg 48]</span>rels
and screech owls thus rudely disturbed.
Their camp equipage and arrangements were of
the simplest and rudest and Mr. Denny relates
that Lee Terry would not cook so he did the cooking.
He made a &#8220;johnny cake&#8221; board of willow
wood to bake bread upon.</p>

<p>Fish and game were cooked before the camp
fire. The only cooking vessel was a tin pail.</p>

<p>One evening Old Duwampsh Curley, whose
Indian name was Su-whalth, with several others,
visited them and begged the privilege of camping
near by. Permission given, the Indians built a
fire and proceeded to roast a fine, fat duck transfixed
on a sharp stick, placing a large clam shell
underneath to catch the gravy. When it was
cooked to their minds, Curley offered a choice cut
to the white men, who thanked him but declined
to partake, saying that they had eaten their supper.</p>

<p>Old Curley remembered it and in after years
often reminded his white friend of the incident,
laughing slyly, &#8220;He! He! Boston man halo tikke
Siwash muck-a-muck&#8221; (white man do not like
Indian&#8217;s food), knowing perfectly well the reason
they would not accept the proffered dainty.</p>

<p>J. N. Low had returned to Portland and
Terry went to Olympia on the return trip of
Collins&#8217; scow, leaving David T. Denny alone with
&#8220;New York,&#8221; the unfinished cabin and the Indians.
For three weeks he was the sole occupant
and was ill a part of the time.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 49]</span>Meanwhile, the families left behind had not
been idle, but having made up their minds that
the end of their rainbow rested on Puget Sound,
set sail on the schooner &#8220;Exact,&#8221; with others who
intended to settle at various points on the Inland
Sea, likewise a party of gold hunters bound for
Queen Charlotte&#8217;s Island.</p>

<p>They were one week getting around Cape
Flattery and up the Sound as far as Alki Point.
It was a rough introduction to the briny deep,
as the route covered the most tempestuous portion
of the northwest coast. Well acquainted as
they were with prairie schooners, a schooner on
the ocean was another kind of craft and they
enjoyed (?) their first experience of seasickness
crossing the bar of the Columbia. As may be
easily imagined, the fittings were not of the most
luxurious kind and father, mother and the children
gathered socially around a washing tub to
pay their respects to Neptune.</p>

<p>The gold miners, untouched by mal de mer,
sang jolly songs and played cards to amuse themselves.
Their favorite ditty was the round
&#8220;Three Blind Mice&#8221; and they sang also many
good old campmeeting songs. Poor fellows! they
were taken captive by the Indians of Queen Charlotte&#8217;s
Island and kept in slavery a number of
years until Victorians sent an expedition for
their rescue, paid their ransom and they were
released.</p>

<p><a id="III" name="III"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp049.png" width="500" height="298" alt="" title="BARGAINING WITH INDIANS AT ALKI, 1851" />
<span class="caption">BARGAINING WITH INDIANS AT ALKI, 1851</span>
</div>

<p>On a dull November day, the thirteenth of
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50">[Pg 50]</a></span>the month, this company landed on Alki Point.</p>

<p>There were A. A. Denny, his wife, Mary
Boren Denny, and their three little children;
Miss Louisa Boren, a younger sister of Mrs.
Denny; C. D. Boren and his family; J. N. Low,
Mrs. Low and their four children and Wm. N.
Bell, Mrs. Sarah Bell and their family.</p>

<p>John and Sarah Denny with their little
daughter, Loretta, remained in Oregon for several
years and then removed to the Sound.</p>

<p>On that eventful morning the lonely occupant
of the unfinished cabin was startled by an
unusual sound, the rattling of an anchor chain,
that of the &#8220;Exact.&#8221; Not feeling well he had
the night before made some hot tea, drank it,
piled both his own and Lee Terry&#8217;s blankets over
him and slept long and late. Hearing the noise
before mentioned he rose hastily, pushed aside
the boards leaned up for a door and hurried out
and down to the beach to meet his friends who
left the schooner in a long boat. It was a gloomy,
rainy time and the prospect for comfort was so
poor that the women, except the youngest who
had no family cares, sat them down on a log on
the beach and wept bitter tears of discouragement.
Not so with Miss Louisa Boren, whose
lively curiosity and love of nature led her to examine
everything she saw, the shells and pebbles
of the beach, rank shrubbery and rich evergreens
that covered the bank, all so new and interesting
to the traveler from the far prairie country.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 51]</span>But little time could be spent, however, indulging
in the luxury of woe as all were obliged
to exert themselves to keep their effects from being
carried away by the incoming tide and forgot
their sorrow in busily carrying their goods upon
the bank; food and shelter must be prepared, and
as ever before they met the difficulties courageously.</p>

<p>The roof of the cabin was a little imperfect
and one of the pioneer children was rendered
quite uncomfortable by the more or less regular
drip of the rain upon her and in after years recalled
it saying that she had forever after a
prejudice against camping out.</p>

<p>David T. Denny inadvertantly let fall the
remark that he wished they had not come. A. A.
Denny, his brother, came to him, pale with agitation,
asking what he meant, and David attempted
to allay his fears produced by anxiety
for his helpless family, by saying that the cabin
was not comfortable in its unfinished state.</p>

<p>The deeper truth was that the Sound country
was swarming with Indians. Had the pioneers
fully realized the risk they ran, nothing would
have induced them to remain; their very unconsciousness
afterward proved a safeguard.</p>

<p>The rainy season was fairly under way and
suitable shelter was an absolute necessity.</p>

<p>Soon other houses were built of round fir
logs and split cedar boards.</p>

<p>The householders brought quite a supply of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 52]</span>
provisions with them on the &#8220;Exact;&#8221; among
other things a barrel of dried apples, which
proved palatable and wholesome. Sea biscuit,
known as hard-bread, and potato bread made of
mashed potatoes and baked in the oven were oft
times substitutes for or adjuncts of the customary
loaf.</p>

<p>There was very little game in the vicinity of
the settlement and at first they depended on the
native hunters and fishermen who brought toothsome
wild ducks and venison, fresh fish and clams
in abundance.</p>

<p>One of the pioneers relates that some wily
rascals betrayed them into eating pieces of game
which he afterward was convinced were cut from
a cougar. The Indians who brought it called it
&#8220;mowich&#8221; (deer), but the meat was of too light
a color for either venison or bear, and the conformation
of the leg bones in the pieces resembled
<i>felis</i> rather than <i>cervus</i>.</p>

<p>But the roasts were savory, it was unseemly
to make too severe an examination and the food
supply was not then so certain as to permit indulgence
in an over-nice discrimination.</p>

<p>The inventive genius of the pioneer women
found generous exercise in the manufacture of
new dishes. The variations were rung on fish,
potatoes and clams in a way to pamper epicures.
Clams in fry, pie, chowder, soup, stew, boil and
bake&mdash;even pickled clams were found an agreeable
relish. The great variety of food fishes<span class="pagenum">[Pg 53]</span>
from the kingly salmon to the tiny smelt, with
crabs, oysters, etc., and their many modes of
preparation, were perpetually tempting to the
pioneer appetite.</p>

<p>The question of food was a serious one for
the first year, as the resources of this land of
plenty were unknown at first, but the pushing
pioneer proved a ready and adaptable learner.</p>

<p>Flour, butter, syrup, sugar, tea and coffee
were brought at long intervals over great distances
by sailing vessels. By the time these
articles reached the settlement their value became
considerable.</p>

<p>Game, fish and potatoes were staple articles
of diet and judging from the stalwart frames
of the Indians were safe and substantial.</p>

<p>Trading with the Indians brought about
some acquaintance with their leading characteristics.</p>

<p>On one occasion, the youngest of the white
women, Louisa Boren, attempted to barter some
red flannel for a basket of potatoes.</p>

<p>The basket of &#8220;wapatoes&#8221; occupied the center
of a level spot in front of the cabin, backed
by a semicircle of perhaps twenty-five Indians.
A tall, bronze tyee (chief) stood up to wa-wa
(talk). He wanted so much cloth; stretching
out his long arms to their utmost extent, fully
two yards.</p>

<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I will give you so much,&#8221;
about one yard.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 54]</span>&#8220;Wake, cultus potlatch&#8221; (No, that is just
giving them away) answered the Indian, who
measured several times and insisted that he
would not trade for an inch less. Out of patience
at last, she disdainfully turned her back and
retired inside the cabin behind a mat screen. No
amount of coaxing from the savages could induce
her to return, and the disappointed spectators
filed off, bearing their &#8220;hyas mokoke&#8221; (very
valuable) potatoes with them, no doubt marveling
at the firmness of the white &#8220;slanna&#8221; (woman).</p>

<p>A more successful deal in potatoes was the
venture of A. A. Denny and J. N. Low, who traveled
from Alki to Fort Nesqually, in a big canoe
manned by four Indians and obtained fifty bushels
of little, round, red potatoes grown by Indians
from seed obtained from the &#8220;Sking George&#8221;
men. The green hides of beeves were spread in
the bottom of the canoe and the potatoes piled
thereon.</p>

<p>Returning to Alki it was a little rough and
the vegetables were well moistened with salt
chuck, as were the passengers also, probably, deponent
saith not.</p>

<p>It is not difficult for those who have traveled
the Sound in all kinds of weather to realize
the aptness of the expression of the Chinese cook
of a camping party who were moving in a large
canoe; when the waves began to rise, he exclaimed
in agitation, &#8220;Too littlee boat for too<span class="pagenum">[Pg 55]</span>
muchee big waters.&#8221; It is well to bear in mind
that the &#8220;Sound&#8221; is a great inland sea. A tenderfoot&#8217;s
description of the water over which he
floated, the timorous occupant of a canoe, testifies
that it looked to him to be &#8220;Two hundred
feet deep, as clear as a kitten&#8217;s eye and as cold
as death.&#8221;</p>

<p>All the different sorts of canoes of which I
shall speak in another chapter look &#8220;wobbly&#8221;
and uncertain, yet the Indians make long voyages
of hundreds of miles by carefully observing
the wind and tide.</p>

<p>A large canoe will easily carry ten persons
and one thousand pounds of baggage. One of
these commodious travelers, with a load of natives
and their &#8220;ictas&#8221; (baggage) landed on a
stormy day at Alki and the occupants spent several
hours ashore. While engaged with their
meal one of them exclaimed, &#8220;Nannitch!&#8221; (look)
at the same time pointing at the smoke of the
campfire curling steadily straight upward.
Without another word they tumbled themselves
and belongings aboard and paddled off in silent
satisfaction.</p>

<p>The ascending column of smoke was their
barometer which read &#8220;Fair weather, no wind.&#8221;</p>

<p>The white people, unacquainted with the
shores, tides and winds of the great Inland Sea,
did well to listen to their Indian canoemen;
sometimes their unwillingness to do so exposed
them to great danger and even loss of life.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 56]</span>The Indians living on Elliott Bay were
chiefly the indigenous tribe of D&#8217;wampsh or Duwampsh,
changed by white people into &#8220;Duwamish.&#8221;</p>

<p>They gave abundant evidence of possessing
human feeling beneath their rough exterior.</p>

<p>One of the white women at Alki, prepared
some food for a sick Indian child which finally
recovered. The child&#8217;s father, &#8220;Old Alki John,&#8221;
was a very &#8220;hard case,&#8221; but his heart was tender
toward his child, and to show his gratitude he
brought and offered as a present to the kind
white &#8220;slanna&#8221; (woman) a bright, new tin pail,
a very precious thing to the Indian mind. Of
course she readily accepted his thanks but persuaded
him to keep the pail.</p>

<p>Savages though they were, or so appeared,
the Indians of Elliott Bay were correctly described
in these words:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;We found a race, though rude and wild,</span>
<span class="i0">Still tender toward friend or child,</span>
<span class="i0">For dark eyes laughed or shone with tears</span>
<span class="i0">As joy or sorrow filled the years.</span>
<span class="i0">Their black-eyed babes the red men kissed</span>
<span class="i0">And captive brothers sorely missed;</span>
<span class="i0">With broken hearts brown mothers wept</span>
<span class="i0">When babes away by death were swept.&#8221;</span>

<p class="quotsig">&mdash;Song of the Pioneers.</p>
</div>

<p>But there were amusing as well as pathetic
experiences. The Indians were like untaught
children in many things. Their curiosity over-<span class="pagenum">[Pg 57]</span>came
them and their innocent impertinence
sometimes required reproof.</p>

<p>In a cabin at Alki one morning, a white
woman was frying fish. Warming by the fire
stood &#8220;Duwampsh Curley;&#8221; the odor of the fish
was doubtless appetizing; Curley was moved
with a wish to partake of it and reached out a
dark and doubtful-looking hand to pick out a
piece. The white woman had a knife in her hand
to turn the pieces and raised it to strike the imprudent
hand which was quickly and sheepishly
withdrawn.</p>

<p>Had he been as haughty and ill-natured as
some savages the result might have been disastrous,
but he took the reproof meekly and mended
his manners instead of retaliating.</p>

<p>Now and then the settlers were spectators in
dramas of Indian romance.</p>

<p>&#8220;Old Alki John&#8221; had a wife whose history
became interesting. For some unknown reason
she ran away from Puyallup to Alki. Her husband
followed her, armed with a Hudson Bay
musket and a frame of mind that boded no good.
While A. A. Denny, D. T. Denny and Alki John
were standing together on the bank one day Old
John&#8217;s observing eye caught sight of a strange
Indian ascending the bank, carrying his gun
muzzle foremost, a suggestive position not indicative
of peaceful intentions. &#8220;Nannitch&#8221;
(look) he said quietly; the stranger advanced
boldly, but Old John&#8217;s calm manner must have<span class="pagenum">[Pg 58]</span>
had a soothing effect upon the bloodthirsty savage,
as he concluded to &#8220;wa-wa&#8221; (talk) a little
before fighting.</p>

<p>So the gutturals and polysyllables of the native
tongue fairly flew about until evidently, as
Mr. D. T. Denny relates, some sort of compromise
was effected. Not then understanding the
language, he could not determine just the nature
of the arrangement, but has always thought it
was amicably settled by the payment of money by
&#8220;Old Alki John&#8221; to her former husband. This
Indian woman was young and fair, literally so,
as her skin was very white, she being the whitest
squaw ever seen among them; her head was not
flattened, she was slender and of good figure.
Possibly she had white blood in her veins; her
Indian name was &#8220;Si-a-ye.&#8221;</p>

<p>Being left a widow, she was not left to pine
alone very long; another claimed her hand and
she became Mrs. Yeow-de-pump. When this one
joined his brethren in the happy hunting ground,
she remained a widow for some time, but is now
the wife of the Indian Zacuse, mentioned in another
place.</p>

<p>There were women cabin builders. Each
married woman was given half the donation
claim by patent from the government; improvement
on her part of the claim was therefore
necessary.</p>

<p>On a fine, fair morning in the early spring
of 1852, two women set forth from the settlement<span class="pagenum">[Pg 59]</span>
at Alki, to cross Elliott Bay in a fishing canoe,
with Indians to paddle and a large dog to protect
them from possible wild animals in the forest,
for in that wild time, bears, cougars and
wolves roamed the shores of Puget Sound.</p>

<p>Landed on the opposite shore, the present
site of Seattle, they made their way slowly and
with difficulty through the dense undergrowth of
the heavy forest, there being not so much as a
trail, over a long distance. Arrived at the chosen
spot, they cut with their own hands some small
fir logs and laid the foundation of a cabin. While
thus employed the weather underwent a change
and on the return was rather threatening. The
wind and waves were boisterous, the canine passenger
was frightened and uneasy, thus adding to
the danger. The water washed into the canoe
and the human occupants suffered no little anxiety
until they reached the beach at home.</p>

<p>One of the conditions of safe travel in a canoe
is a quiet and careful demeanor, the most
approved plan being to sit down in the bottom
of the craft and <i>stay there</i>.</p>

<p>To have a large, heavy animal squirming
about, getting up and lying down frequently,
must have tried their nerve severely and it must
have taken good management to prevent a serious
catastrophe. The Bell family were camped
at that time on their claim in a rude shelter of
Indian boards and mats.</p>

<p>The handful of white men at Alki spent<span class="pagenum">[Pg 60]</span>
their time and energy in getting out piles for the
San Francisco market. At first they had very
few appliances for handling the timber. The
first vessel to load was the brig Leonesa, which
took a cargo of piles, cut, rolled and hauled by
hand, as there were no cattle at the settlement.</p>

<p>There were also no roads and Lee Terry
went to Puyallup for a yoke of oxen, which he
drove down on the beach to Alki. Never were
dumb brutes better appreciated than these useful
creatures.</p>

<p>But the winter, or rather rainy season, wore
away; as spring approached the settlers explored
the shores of the Sound far and near and it
became apparent that Alki must wait till &#8220;by and
by,&#8221; as the eastern shore of Elliott Bay was
found more desirable and the pioneers prepared
to move again by locating donation claims on a
portion of the land now covered by a widespread
city, which will bring us to the next chapter,
&#8220;The Founding of Seattle and Indian War.&#8221;</p>

<p>The following is a brief recapitulation of the
first days on Puget Sound; in these later years
we see the rapid and skillful construction of elegant
mansions, charming cottages and stately
business houses, all in sight of the spot where
stood the first little cabin of the pioneer. The
builders of this cabin were D. T. Denny, J. N.
Low and Lee Terry, assisted by the Indians, the
only tools, an ax and a hammer, the place Alki
Point, the time, the fall of 1851.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 61]</span>They baked their bread before the fire on a
willow board hewed from a piece of a tree which
grew near the camp; the only cooking vessel was
a tin pail; the salmon they got off the Indians was
roasted before the fire on a stick.</p>

<p>The cabin was unfinished when the famous
landing was made, November 13th, 1851, because
J. N. Low returned to Portland, having been on
the Sound but a few days, then Lee Terry
boarded Collins&#8217; scow on its return trip up Sound
leaving D. T. Denny alone for about three weeks,
during most of which time he was ill. This was
Low&#8217;s cabin; after the landing of Bell, Boren
and A. A. Denny and the others of the party,
among whom were Low and C. C. Terry, a roof
was put on the unfinished cabin and they next
built A. A. Denny&#8217;s and then two cabins of split
cedar for Bell and Boren and their families.</p>

<p>When they moved to the east side of Elliott
Bay, Bell&#8217;s was the first one built. W. N. Bell
and D. T. Denny built A. A. Denny&#8217;s on the east
side, as he was sick. D. T. Denny had served an
apprenticeship in cabin building, young as he
was, nineteen years of age, before he came to
Puget Sound.</p>

<p>The first of D. T. Denny&#8217;s cabins he built
himself with the aid of three Indians. There
was not a stick or piece of sawed stuff in it.</p>

<p>However, by the August following his marriage,
which took place January 23rd, 1853, he
bought of H. L. Yesler lumber from his sawmill<span class="pagenum">[Pg 62]</span>
at about $25.00 per M. to put up a little board
house, sixteen by twenty feet near the salt water,
between Madison and Marion streets, Seattle.</p>

<p>This little home was my birthplace, the first
child of the first white family established at Elliott
Bay. Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny had been
threatened by Indians and their cabin robbed, so
thought it best to move into the settlement.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV<br />

<span class="smaller">FOUNDING OF SEATTLE AND INDIAN WAR.</span></h2>

<p>The most astonishing change wrought in the
aspect of nature by the building of a city on
Puget Sound is not the city itself but the destruction
of the primeval forest.</p>

<p>By the removal of the thick timber the country
becomes unrecognizable; replaced by thousands
of buildings of brick, wood and stone,
graded streets, telephone and electric light systems,
steam, electric and cable railways and all
the paraphernalia of modern civilization, the contrast
is very great. The same amount of energy
and money expended in a treeless, level country
would probably have built a city three times as
large as Seattle.</p>

<p>In February, 1852, Bell, Boren and the
Dennys located claims on the east side of Elliott
Bay. Others followed, but it was not until May,
1853, that C. D. Boren and A. A. Denny filed the
first plat of the town, named for the noted chief,
&#8220;Seattle.&#8221; The second plat was filed shortly
after by D. S. Maynard. Maynard was a physician
who did not at first depend on the practice
of his profession; perhaps the settlers were too
vigorous to require pills, powders and potions,
at any rate he proposed to engage in the business
of packing salmon.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 64]</span>The settlers at Alki moved over to their
claims in the spring of 1852, some of them camping
until they could build log cabins.</p>

<p>Finally all were well established and then
began the hand to hand conflict for possession
of the ground. The mighty forest must yield to
fire and the ax; then from the deep bosom of the
earth what bounty arose!</p>

<p>The Indians proved efficient helpers, guides
and workers in many ways. One of the pioneers
had three Indians to help him build his cabin.</p>

<p>To speak more particularly of the original
architecture of the country, the cabins, built usually
of round logs of the Douglas fir, about six
inches in diameter, were picturesque, substantial
and well suited to the needs of the pioneer. A
great feature of the Seattle cabin was the door
made of thick boards hewed out of the timber as
there was no sawmill on the bay until H. L. Yesler
built the first steam sawmill erected on the
Sound. This substantial door was cut across in
the middle with a diagonal joint; the lower half
was secured by a stout wooden pin, in order that
the upper half might be opened and the &#8220;wa-wa&#8221;
(talk) proceed with the native visitor, who
might or might not be friendly, while he stood on
the outside of the door and looked in with eager
curiosity, on the strange ways of the &#8220;Bostons.&#8221;</p>

<p>The style of these log cabins was certainly
admirable, adapted as they were to the situation
of the settler. They were inexpensive as the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 65]</span>
material was plentiful and near at hand, and
required only energy and muscle to construct
them; there were no plumber&#8217;s, gas or electric
light bills coming in every month, no taxes for
improvements and a man could build a lean-to
or hay-shed without a building permit. The interiors
were generally neat, tasteful and home-like,
made so by the versatile pioneer women who
occupied them.</p>

<p>These primitive habitations were necessarily
scattered as it was imperative that they should
be placed so as to perfect the titles of the donation
claims. Sometimes two settlers were able
to live near each other when they held adjoining
claims, others were obliged to live several miles
away from the main settlement and far from a
neighbor, in lonely, unprotected places.</p>

<p>What thoughts of the homes and friends
they had left many weary leagues behind, visited
these lonely cabin dwellers!</p>

<p>The husband was engaged in clearing, slashing
and burning log heaps, cutting timber, hunting
for game to supply the larder, or away on
some errand to the solitary neighbor&#8217;s or distant
settlement. Often, during the livelong day the
wife was alone, occupied with domestic toil, all
of which had to be performed by one pair of
hands, with only primitive and rude appliances;
but there were no incompetent servants to annoy,
social obligations were few, fashion was remote
and its tyranny unknown, in short, many dis<span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66">[Pg 66]</a></span>agreeable
things were lacking. The sense of isolation
was intensified by frequently recurring incidents
in which the dangers of pioneer life became
manifest. The dark, mysterious forest
might send forth from its depths at any moment
the menace of savage beast or relentless man.</p>

<p>The big, grey, timber wolf still roamed the
woods, although it soon disappeared before the
oncoming wave of invading settlers. Generally
quite shy, they required some unusual attraction
to induce them to display their voices.</p>

<p>On a dark winter night in 1853, the lonely
cabin of D. T. and Louisa Denny was visited by
a pair of these voracious beasts, met to discuss
the remains of a cow, belonging to W. N. Bell,
which had stuck fast among some tree roots and
died in the edge of the clearing. How they did
snarl and howl, making the woods and waters resound
with their cries as they greedily devoured
the carcass. The pioneer couple who occupied
the cabin entered no objection and were very
glad of the protection of the solid walls of their
primitive domicile. The next day, Mr. Denny,
with dog and gun, went out to hunt them but they
had departed to some remote region.</p>

<p>On another occasion the young wife lay sick
and alone in the cabin above mentioned and a
good neighbor, Mrs. Sarah Bell, from her home
a mile away, came to see her, bringing some wild
<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>pheasant&#8217;s eggs the men had found while cut<span class="pagenum">[Pg 67]</span>ting
spars. While the women chatted, an Indian
came and stood idly looking in over the half-door
and his companion lurked in the brush near by.</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Ruffed grouse.</p></div>

<p>John Kanem, a brother of the chief, Pat
Kanem, afterward told the occupants of the
cabin that these Indians had divulged their intention
of murdering them in order to rob their
dwelling, but abandoned the project, giving as a
reason that a &#8220;haluimi kloochman&#8221; (another or
unknown woman) was there and the man was
away.</p>

<p>Surely a kind Providence watched over these
unprotected ones that they might in after years
fulfill their destiny.</p>

<p>During the summer of 1855, before the Indian
war, Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny were living
in a log cabin in the swale, an opening in the
midst of a heavy forest, on their donation claim,
to which they had moved from their first cabin on
Elliott Bay.</p>

<p>Dr. Choush, an Indian medicine man, came
along one day in a state of ill-suppressed fury.
He had just returned from a Government &#8220;potlatch&#8221;
at the Tulalip agency. In relating how
they were cheated he said that the Indians were
presented with strips of blankets which had
been torn into narrow pieces about six or eight
inches wide, and a little bit of thread and a needle
or two. The Indians thereupon traded among
themselves and pieced the strips together.</p>

<p>He was naturally angry and said menacing<span class="pagenum">[Pg 68]</span>ly
that the white people were few, their doors
were thin and the Indians could easily break
them in and kill all the &#8220;Bostons.&#8221;</p>

<p>All this could not have been very reassuring
to the inmates of the cabin; however they were
uniformly kind to the natives and had many
friends among them.</p>

<p>Just before the outbreak a troop of Indians
visited this cabin and their bearing was so
haughty that Mrs. Denny felt very anxious.
When they demanded &#8220;Klosh mika potlatch wapatoes,&#8221;
(Give us some potatoes) she hurried out
herself to dig them as quickly as possible that
they might have no excuse for displeasure, and
was much relieved when they took their departure.
One Indian remained behind a long time
but talked very little. It is supposed that he
thought of warning them of the intended attack
on the white settlement but was afraid to do so
because of the enmity against him that might
follow among his own people.</p>

<p>Gov. Stevens had made treaties with the
Indians to extinguish their title to the lands of
the Territory. Some were dissatisfied and
stirred up the others against the white usurpers.
This was perfectly natural; almost any American
of whatever color resents usurpation.</p>

<p>Time would fail to recount the injuries and
indignities heaped upon the Indians by the evil-minded
among the whites, who could scarcely<span class="pagenum">[Pg 69]</span>
have been better than the same class among the
natives they sought to displace.</p>

<p>As subsequently appeared, there was a difference
of opinion among the natives as to the
desirability of white settlements in their domain:
Leschi, Coquilton, Owhi, Kitsap, Kamiakin
and Kanasket were determined against
them, while Sealth (Seattle) and Pat Kanem
were peaceable and friendly.</p>

<p>The former, shrewd chieftains, well knew
that the white people coveted their good lands.</p>

<p>One night before the war, a passing white
man, David T. Denny, heard Indians talking together
in one of their &#8220;rancherees&#8221; or large
houses; they were telling how the white men
knew that the lands belonging to Tseiyuse and
Ohwi, two great Yakima chiefs, were very desirable.</p>

<p>Cupidity, race prejudice and cruelty caused
numberless injuries and indignities against the
Indians. In spite of all, there were those among
them who proved the faithful friends of the white
race.</p>

<p>Hu-hu-bate-sute or &#8220;Salmon Bay Curley,&#8221; a
tall, hawk-nosed, eagle-eyed Indian with very
curly hair, was a staunch friend of the &#8220;Bostons.&#8221;</p>

<p>Thlid Kanem or &#8220;Cut-Hand&#8221; sent Lake
John Che-shi-a-hud to Shilshole to inform this
&#8220;Curley,&#8221; who lived there, of the intended attack
on Seattle. Curley told Ira W. Utter, a<span class="pagenum">[Pg 70]</span>
white settler on Shilshole or Salmon Bay, and
brought him up to Seattle in his own canoe during
the night.</p>

<p>&#8220;Duwampsh Curley&#8221; or Su-whalth, appears
in a very unfavorable light in Bancroft&#8217;s history.
My authority, who speaks the native tongue fluently
and was a volunteer in active duty on the
day of the battle of Seattle, says it was not Curley
who disported himself in the manner therein
described. I find this refreshing note pencilled
on the margin: &#8220;Now this is all a lie about
Curley.&#8221;</p>

<p>Curley rendered valuable assistance on
the day of the fight. D. T. Denny saw him go on
a mission down the bay at the request of the
navy officers, to ascertain the position of the
hostiles in the north part of the town.</p>

<p>&#8220;Old Mose&#8221; or Show-halthlk brought word
to Seattle of the approach of the hostile bands in
January, 1856.</p>

<p>But I seem to anticipate and hasten to refer
again to the daily life of the Founders of Seattle.</p>

<p>Trade here, as at Alki, consisted in cutting
piles, spars and timber to load vessels for San
Francisco. These ships brought food supplies
and merchandise, the latter often consisting of
goods, calicoes, blankets, shawls and tinware,
suitable for barter with the Indians to whom the
settlers still looked for a number of articles of
food.</p>

<p>Bread being the staff of life to the white<span class="pagenum">[Pg 71]</span>
man, the supply of flour was a matter of importance.
In the winter of 1852 this commodity
became so scarce, from the long delay of ships
carrying it, that the price became quite fancy,
reaching forty dollars per barrel. Pork likewise
became a costly luxury; A. A. Denny relates
that he paid ninety dollars for two barrels and
when by an untoward fate one of the barrels of
the precious meat was lost it was regarded as a
positive calamity.</p>

<p>Left on the beach out of reach of high tide,
it was supposed to be safe, but during the night
it was carried away by the waves that swept the
banks under the high wind. At the next low tide
which came also at night, the whole settlement
turned out and searched the beach, with pitchwood
torches, from the head of the Bay to
Smith&#8217;s Cove, but found no trace of the missing
barrel of pork.</p>

<p>An extenuating circumstance was the fact
that a large salmon might be purchased for a
brass button, while red flannel, beads, knives and
other &#8220;ictas&#8221; (things) were legal tender for potatoes,
venison, berries and clams.</p>

<p>Domestic animals were few; I do not know
if there was a sheep, pig or cow, and but few
chickens, on Elliott Bay at the beginning of the
year 1852.</p>

<p>As late as 1859, Charles Prosch relates that
he paid one dollar and a half for a dozen eggs and
the same price for a pound of butter.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 72]</span>There were no roads, only a few trails
through the forest; a common mode of travel
was to follow the beach, the traveler having to
be especially mindful of the tide as the banks
are so abrupt in many places that at high tide
the shore is impassable. The Indian canoe was
pressed into service whenever possible.</p>

<p>Very gradually ways through the forest were
tunneled out and made passable, by cutting the
trees and grubbing the larger stumps, but small
obstructions were disdained and anything that
would escape a wagon-bed was given peaceable
possession.</p>

<p>Of the original settlement, J. N. Low and
family remained at Alki.</p>

<p>D. T. and Louisa Denny, who were married
at the cabin home of A. A. Denny, January 23rd,
1853, moved themselves and few effects in a
canoe to their cabin on the front of their donation
claim, the habitation standing on the spot
for many years occupied by numerous &#8220;sweetbrier&#8221;
bushes, grown from seeds planted by the
first bride of Seattle.</p>

<p>Stern realities confronted them; a part of
the time they were out of flour and had no bread
for days; they bought fish of the Indians, which,
together with game from the forest, brought
down by the rifle of the pioneer, made existence
possible.</p>

<p>And then, too, the pioneer housewife soon
became a shrewd searcher for indigenous articles<span class="pagenum">[Pg 73]</span>
of food. Among these were nettle greens gathered
in the woods.</p>

<p>In their season the native berries were very
acceptable; the salmonberry ripening early in
June; dewberries and red and black huckleberries
were plentiful in July and August.</p>

<p>The first meal partaken of in this cabin consisted
of salt meat from a ship&#8217;s stores and potatoes.
They afterward learned to make a whole
meal of a medium sized salmon with potatoes,
the fragments remaining not worth mention.</p>

<p>The furniture of their cabin was meager, a
few chairs from a ship, a bedstead made of fir
poles and a ship&#8217;s stove were the principle articles.
One window without glass but closed by
a wooden shutter with the open upper half-door
served to light it in the daytime, while the glimmer
of a dog-fish-oil lamp was the illumination
at night.</p>

<p>The stock consisted of a single pair of chickens,
a wedding present from D. S. Maynard. The
hen set under the door-step and brought out a
fine brood of chicks. The rooster soon took
charge of them, scratched, called and led them
about in the most motherly manner, while the
hen, apparently realizing the fact that she was
literally a rara avis prepared to bring out another
brood.</p>

<p>Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny while visiting
their friends at Alki on one occasion witnessed a
startling scene.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 74]</span>An Indian had come to trade, &#8220;Old Alki
John,&#8221; and a misunderstanding appears to have
arisen about the price of a sack of flour. The
women, seated chatting at one end of the cabin,
were chilled with horror to see the white man,
his face pale with anger and excitement, raise an
ax as if to strike the Indian, who had a large
knife, such as many of them wore suspended
from the wrist by a cord; the latter, a tall and
brawny fellow, regarded him with a threatening
look.</p>

<p>Fortunately no blow was struck and the
white man gradually lowered the ax and dropped
it on the floor. The Indian quietly departed,
much to their relief, as a single blow would likely
have resulted in a bloody affray and the massacre
of all the white people.</p>

<p>At that time there were neither jails, nor
courthouse, no churches, but one sawmill, no
steamboats, railways or street cars, not even a
rod of wagon road in King County, indeed all
the conveniences of modern civilization were
wanting.</p>

<p>There were famous, historic buildings erected
and occupied, other than the cabin homes; the
most notable of these was Fort Decatur.</p>

<p>The commodious blockhouse so named after
the good sloop-of-war that rescued the town of
Seattle from the hostiles, stood on an eminence
at the end of Cherry Street overlooking the Bay.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 75]</span>
At this time there were about three hundred
white inhabitants.</p>

<p>The hewn timbers of this fort were cut by
D. T. Denny and two others, on the front of the
donation claim, and hauled out on the beach
ready to load a ship for San Francisco, but ultimately
served a very different purpose from the
one first intended.</p>

<p>The mutterings of discontent among the Indians
portended war and the settlers made haste
to prepare a place of refuge. The timbers were
dragged up the hill by oxen and many willing
hands promptly put them in place; hewn to the
line, the joints were close and a good shingle
roof covered the building, to which were added
two bastions of sawed stuff from Yesler&#8217;s mill.
D. T. Denny remembers the winter was a mild
one, and men went about without coats, otherwise
&#8220;in their shirtsleeves.&#8221; While they were
building the fort, the U. S. Sloop-of-war <i>Decatur</i>,
sailed up the Bay with a fair breeze, came to
anchor almost directly opposite, swung around
and fired off the guns, sixteen thirty-two-pounders,
making thunderous reverberations far and
wide, a sweet sound to the settlers.</p>

<p>Several of the too confident ones laughed
and scoffed at the need of a fort while peace
seemed secure. One of these doubters was told
by Mrs. Louisa Denny that the people laughed
at Noah when he built the ark, and it transpired
that a party was obliged to bring this objector<span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
and his family into the fort from their claim two
miles away, after dark of the night before the
battle.</p>

<p>A few nights before the attack, a false alarm
sent several settlers out in fluttering nightrobes,
cold, moonlight and frosty though it was. Mr.
Hillory Butler and his wife, Mrs. McConaha and
her children calling to the former &#8220;Wait for
me.&#8221; It is needless to say that Mr. Butler waited
for nobody until he got inside the fort.</p>

<p>The excitement was caused by the shooting
of Jack Drew, a deserter from the Decatur. He
was instantly killed by a boy of fifteen, alone with
his sister whom he thus bravely defended. This
was Milton Holgate and the weapon a shotgun,
the charge of which took effect in the wanderer&#8217;s
face. As the report rang out through the still
night air it created a panic throughout the settlement.</p>

<p>A family living on the eastern outskirts of
the village at the foot of a hill were driven in and
their house burned. The men had been engaged
in tanning leather and had quite a number of
hides on hand that must have enriched the
flames. The owners had ridiculed the idea that
there was danger of an Indian attack and would
not assist in building the fort, scoffed at the man-of-war
in the harbor and were generally contemptuous
of the whole proceeding. However, when
fired on by the Indians they fled precipitately to
the fort they had scorned. One of them sank<span class="pagenum">[Pg 77]</span>
down, bareheaded, breathless and panting on a
block of wood inside the fort in an exceedingly
subdued frame of mind to the great amusement
of the soldiery, both Captain and men.</p>

<p>The first decided move of the hostiles was
the attack on the White River settlers, burning,
killing and destroying as is the wont of a savage
foe.</p>

<p>Joe Lake, a somewhat eccentric character,
had one of the hairbreadth escapes fall to his
share of the terrible times. He was slightly
wounded in an attack on the Cox home on White
River. Joe was standing in the open door when
an Indian not far away from the cabin, seeing
him, held his ramrod on the ground for a rest,
placed his gun across it and fired at Joe; the
bullet penetrated the clothing and just grazed
his shoulder. A man inside the cabin reached
up for a gun which hung over the door; the Indian
saw the movement and guessing its purpose
made haste to depart.</p>

<p>The occupants of the Cox residence hurriedly
gathered themselves and indispensable effects,
and embarking in a canoe, with energetic
paddling, aided by the current, sped swiftly down
the river into the Bay and safely reached the
fort.</p>

<p>Beside the Decatur, a solitary sailing vessel,
the Bark Brontes, was anchored in the harbor.</p>

<p>Those to engage in the battle were the de<span class="pagenum">[Pg 78]</span>tachments
of men from the Decatur, under Lieutenants
Drake, Hughes, Morris and Phelps, ninety-six
men and eighteen marines, leaving a small
number on board.</p>

<p>A volunteer three months&#8217; company of settlers
of whom C. C. Hewitt was Captain, Wm.
Gilliam, First Lieutenant, D. T. Denny, Corporal
and Robert Olliver, Sergeant, aided in the defense.</p>

<p>A number of the settlers had received friendly
warning and were expecting the attack, some
having made as many as three removals from
their claims, each time approaching nearer to the
fort.</p>

<p>Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny forsook their
cabin in the wilderness and spent an anxious
night at the home of W. N. Bell, which was a mile
or more from the settlement, and the following
day moved in to occupy a house near A. A. Denny&#8217;s,
where the Frye block now stands. From
thence they moved again to a little frame house
near the fort.</p>

<p>Yoke-Yakeman, an Indian who had worked
for A. A. Denny and was nicknamed &#8220;Denny
Jim,&#8221; played an important part as a spy in a
council of the hostiles and gave the warning to
Captain Gansevoort of the Decatur of the impending
battle.</p>

<p>Mr. and Mrs. Blaine, the pioneer M. E. minister,
and his wife, who was the first school teacher
of Seattle, went on board the man-of-war on<span class="pagenum">[Pg 79]</span>
the 22nd of January, 1856, with their infant son,
from their home situated where the Boston Block
now stands.</p>

<p>On the morning of the 26th, while not yet
arisen, she was urging her husband to get a boat
so that she might go ashore; he demurred, parleying,
with his hand upon the doorknob. Just
then they heard the following dialogue:</p>

<blockquote><p>Mr. H. L. Yesler (who had come aboard in
some haste): &#8220;Captain, a klootchman says there
are lots of Indians back of Tom Pepper&#8217;s house.&#8221;</p>

<p>Captain Gansevoort (who was lying in his
berth): &#8220;John bring me my boots.&#8221;</p>

<p>H. L. Yesler: &#8220;Never mind Captain, just
send the lieutenant with the howitzer.&#8221;</p>

<p>Captain G.: &#8220;No sir! Where my men go, I
go too John bring me my boots.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>And thus the ball opened; a shell was dropped
in the neighborhood of &#8220;Tom Pepper&#8217;s
house&#8221; with the effect to arouse the whole horde
of savages, perhaps a thousand, gathered in the
woods back of the town.</p>

<p>Unearthly yells of Indians and brisk firing
of musketry followed; the battle raged until
noon, when there was a lull.</p>

<p>A volume of personal experiences might be
written, but I will give here but a few incidents.
To a number of the settlers who were about
breakfasting, it was a time of breathless terror;
they must flee for their lives to the fort. The
bullets from unseen foes whistled over their<span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
heads and the distance traversed to the fort was
the longest journey of their lives. It was remembered
afterward that some very amusing
things took place in the midst of fright and
flight. One man, rising late and not fully attired,
donned his wife&#8217;s red flannel petticoat instead of
the bifurcated garment that usually graced his
limbs. The &#8220;pants&#8221; were not handy and the
petticoat was put on in a trice.</p>

<p>Louisa Boren Denny, my mother, was alone
with her child about two years old, in the little
frame house, a short distance from the fort. She
was engaged in baking biscuits when hearing the
shots and yells of the Indians she looked out to
see the marines from the Decatur swarming up
out of their boats onto Yesler&#8217;s wharf and concluded
it was best to retire in good order. With
provident foresight she snatched the pan from
the oven and turned the biscuits into her apron,
picked up the child, Emily Inez Denny, with her
free hand and hurried out, leaving the premises
to their fate. Fortunately her husband, David
T. Denny, who had been standing guard, met her
in the midst of the flying bullets and assisted her,
speedily, into the friendly fort.</p>

<p>A terrible day it was for all those who were
called upon to endure the anxiety and suspense
that hovered within those walls; perhaps the moment
that tried them most was when the report
was circulated that all would be burned alive as
the Indians would shoot arrows carrying fire on<span class="pagenum">[Pg 81]</span>
the roof of cedar shingles or heap combustibles
against the walls near the ground and thus set
fire to the building. To prevent the latter maneuver,
the walls were banked with earth all
around.</p>

<p>But the Indians kept at a respectful distance,
the rifle-balls and shells were not to their
taste and it is not their way to fight in the open.</p>

<p>A tragic incident was the death of Milton
Holgate. Francis McNatt, a tall man, stood in
the door of the fort with one hand up on the
frame and Jim Broad beside him; Milton Holgate
stood a little back of McNatt, and the bullet
from a savage&#8217;s gun passed either over or
under the uplifted arm of McNatt, striking the
boy between the eyes.</p>

<p>Quite a number of women and children were
taken on board the two ships in the harbor, but
my mother remained in the fort.</p>

<p>The battle was again renewed and fiercely
fought in the afternoon.</p>

<p>Toward evening the Indians prepared to
burn the town, but a brisk dropping of shells
from the big guns of the Decatur dispersed them
and they departed for cooler regions, burning
houses on the outskirts of the settlement as they
retreated toward the Duwamish River.</p>

<p><a id="IV" name="IV"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp081.png" width="500" height="295" alt="" title="INDIAN CANOES SAILING WITH NORTH WIND" />
<span class="caption">INDIAN CANOES SAILING WITH NORTH WIND</span>
</div>

<p>Leschi, the leader, threatened to return in a
month with his bands and annihilate the place.
In view of other possible attacks, a second block
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 82]</span>house was built and the forest side of the town
barricaded.</p>

<p>Fort Decatur was a two-story building, forty
feet square; the upper story was partitioned
off into small rooms, where a half dozen or more
families lived until it was safe or convenient to
return to their distant homes. Each had a stove
on which to cook, and water was carried from a
well inside the stockade.</p>

<p>There were a number of children thus shut
in, who enlivened the grim walls with their shifting
shadows, awakened mirth by their playfulness
or touched the hearts of their elders by their
pathos.</p>

<p>Like a ray of sunlight in a gloomy interior
was little Sam Neely, a great pet, a sociable, affectionate
little fellow, visiting about from corner
to corner, always sure of attention and a
kindly welcome. The marines from the man-of-war
spoiled him without stint. One of the Sergeants
gave his mother a half worn uniform,
which she skilfully re-made, gold braid, buttons
and all, for little Sam. How proud he was, with
everybody calling him the &#8220;Little Sergeant;&#8221;
whenever he approached a loquacious group,
some one was sure to say, &#8220;Well, Sergeant,
what&#8217;s the news?&#8221;</p>

<p>When the day came for the Neely family to
move out of the fort, his mother was very busy
and meals uncertain.</p>

<p>He finally appealed to a friend, who had be<span class="pagenum">[Pg 83]</span>fore
proven herself capable of sympathy, for
something to appease his gnawing hunger, and
she promptly gave him a bowl of bread and milk.
Down he sat and ate with much relish; as he
drained the last drop he observed, &#8220;I was just so
hungry, I didn&#8217;t know how hungry I was.&#8221;</p>

<p>Poor little Sam was drowned in the Duwampsh
River the same year, and buried on its
banks.</p>

<p>Laura Bell, a little girl of perhaps ten years,
during her stay in the fort exhibited the courage
and constancy characterizing even the children in
those troublous times.</p>

<p>She did a great part of the work for the family,
cared for her younger sisters, prepared and
carried food to her sick mother who was heard to
say with tender gratitude, &#8220;Your dear little
hands have brought me almost everything I have
had.&#8221; Both have passed into the Beyond; one
who remembers Laura well says she was a beautiful,
bright, rosy cheeked child, pleasant to look
upon.</p>

<p>In unconscious childhood I was carried into
Fort Decatur, on the morning of the battle, yet
by careful investigation it has been satisfactorily
proven that one lasting impression was recorded
upon the palimpsest of my immature mind.</p>

<p>A shot was accidentally fired from a gun inside
the fort, by which a palefaced, dark haired
lady narrowly escaped death. The bullet passed
through a loop of her hair, below the ear, just be<span class="pagenum">[Pg 84]</span>side
the white neck. Her hair was dressed in an
old fashioned way, parted in the middle on the
forehead and smoothly brushed down over the
ears, divided and twisted on each side and the two
ropes of hair coiled together at the back of the
head. Like a flashlight photograph, her face is
imprinted on my memory, nothing before or after
for sometime can I claim to recall.</p>

<p>A daughter, the second child of David T. and
Louisa Denny, was born in Fort Decatur on the
sixteenth of March, 1856, who lived to mature
into a gifted and gracious womanhood and passed
away from earth in Christian faith and hope on
January seventeenth, 1889.</p>

<p>Other children who remained in the fort for
varying periods, were those of the Jones, Kirkland,
Lewis, McConaha and Boren families.</p>

<p>Of the number of settlers who occupied the
fort on the day of the battle, the following are
nearly, if not quite all, the families: Wm. N.
Bell, Mrs. Bell and several young children; John
Buckley and Mrs. Buckley; D. A. Neely and family,
one of whom was little Sam Neely spoken of
elsewhere; Mr. and Mrs. Hillory Butler, gratefully
remembered as the best people in the settlement
to visit and help the sick; the Holgates, Mrs.
and Miss Holgate, Lemuel Holgate, and Milton
Holgate who was killed; Timothy Grow, B. L.
Johns and six children, whose mother died on the
way to Puget Sound; Joe Lake, the Kirkland<span class="pagenum">[Pg 85]</span>
family, father and several daughters; Wm. Cox
and family and D. T. Denny and family.</p>

<p>During the Indian war, H. L. Yesler took
Yoke-Yakeman, or &#8220;Denny Jim,&#8221; the friendly
Indian before mentioned, with him across Lake
Washington to the hiding place of the Sammumpsh
Indians who were aiding the hostiles.
Yesler conferred with them and succeeded in persuading
the Indians to come out of their retreat
and go across the Sound.</p>

<p>While returning, Denny Jim met with an accident
which resulted fatally. Intending to shoot
some ducks, he drew his shotgun toward him,
muzzle first, and discharged it, the load entering
his arm, making a flesh wound. Through lack of
skill, perhaps, in treating it, he died from the
effects, in Curley&#8217;s house situated on the slope in
front of Fort Decatur toward the Bay.</p>

<p>This Indian and the service he rendered
should not be forgotten; the same may be appropriately
said of the faithful Spokane of whom the
following account has been given by eye witnesses:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;At the attack of the Cascades of the Columbia,
on the 26th of March, 1856, the white people
took refuge in Bradford&#8217;s store, a log structure
near the river. Having burned a number of other
buildings, the Indians, Yakimas and Klickitats,
attempted to fire the store also; as fast as the
shingles were ignited by burning missiles in the
hands of the Indians, the first was put out by<span class="pagenum">[Pg 86]</span>
pouring brine from a pork barrel, with a tin cup,
on the incipient blazes, not being able to get any
water.</p>

<p>&#8220;The occupants, some wounded, suffered for
fresh water, having only some ale and whisky.
They hoped to get to the river at night, but the
Indians illuminated the scene by burning government
property and a warehouse.</p>

<p>&#8220;James Sinclair, who was shot and instantly
killed early in the fight, had brought a Spokane
Indian with him. This Indian volunteered to get
water for the suffering inmates. A slide used in
loading boats was the only chance and he stripped
off his clothing, slid down to the river and returned
with a bucket of water. This was made
to last until the 28th, when, the enemy remaining
quiet the Spokane repeated the daring performance
of going down the slide and returning with a
pailful of water, with great expedition, until he
had filled two barrels, a feat deserving more than
passing mention.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>On Elliott Bay, the cabins of the farther
away settlers had gone up in smoke, fired by the
hostile Indians. Some were deserted and new
ones built far away from the Sound in the depths
of the forest. It required great courage to return
to their abandoned homes from the security of the
fort, yet doubtless the settlers were glad to be at
liberty after their enforced confinement. One
pioneer woman says it was easy to see <i>Indians</i><span class="pagenum">[Pg 87]</span>
among the stumps and trees around their cabin
after the war.</p>

<p>Many remained in the settlement, others left
the country for safer regions, while a few cultivated
land under volunteer military guard in order
to provide the settlement with vegetables.</p>

<p>The Yesler mill cookhouse, a log structure,
was made historical in those days. The hungry
soldiers after a night watch were fed there and
rushed therefrom to the battle.</p>

<p>While there was no church, hotel, storehouse,
courthouse or jail it was all these by turns. No
doubt those who were sheltered within its walls,
ran the whole gamut of human emotion and experience.</p>

<p>In the <span class="smcap">Puget Sound Weekly</span> of July 30th,
1866, published in Seattle, it was thus described:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;There was nothing about this cook house
very peculiar, except the interest with which old
memories had invested it. It was simply a dingy-looking
hewed log building, about twenty-five feet
square, a little more than one story high, with a
shed addition in the rear, and to strangers and
newcomers was rather an eye-sore and nuisance
in the place&mdash;standing as it did in the business
part of the town, among the more pretentious
buildings of modern construction, like a quaint
octogenarian, among a band of dandyish sprigs
of young America. To old settlers, however, its
weather-worn roof and smoke-blackened walls,
inside and out, were vastly interesting from long<span class="pagenum">[Pg 88]</span>
familiarity, and many pleasant and perhaps a
few unpleasant recollections were connected with
its early history, which we might make subjects
of a small volume of great interest, had we time
to indite it. Suffice it to say, however, that this
old cook house was one among the first buildings
erected in Seattle; was built for the use of the saw
mill many years since, and though designed especially
for a cook house, has been used for almost
every conceivable purpose for which a log
cabin, in a new and wild country, may be employed.</p>

<p>&#8220;For many years the only place for one hundred
miles or more along the eastern shores of
Puget Sound, where the pioneer settlers could be
hospitably entertained by white men and get a
square meal, was Yesler&#8217;s cook house in Seattle,
and whether he had money or not, no man ever
found the latch string of the cook house drawn in,
or went away hungry from the little cabin door;
and many an old Puget Sounder remembers the
happy hours, jolly nights, strange encounters and
wild scenes he has enjoyed around the broad fireplace
and hospitable board of Yesler&#8217;s cook
house.</p>

<p>&#8220;During the Indian war this building was
the general rendezvous of the volunteers engaged
in defending the thinly populated country against
the depredations of the savages, and was also the
resort of the navy officers on the same duty on the
Sound. Judge Lander&#8217;s office was held in one<span class="pagenum">[Pg 89]</span>
corner of the dining room; the auditor&#8217;s office, for
some time, was kept under the same roof, and,
indeed, it may be said to have been used for more
purposes than any other building on the Pacific
coast. It was the general depository from which
law and justice were dispensed throughout a
large scope of surrounding country. It has, at
different times, served for town hall, courthouse,
jail, military headquarters, storehouse, hotel and
church; and in the early years of its history
served all these purposes at once. It was the
place of holding elections, and political parties of
all sorts held their meetings in it, and quarreled
and made friends again, and ate, drank, laughed,
sung, wept, and slept under the same hospitable
roof. If there was to be a public gathering of the
settlers of any kind and for any purpose, no one
ever asked where the place of meeting was to be,
for all knew it was to be at the cook house.</p>

<p>&#8220;The first sermon, by a Protestant, in King
county was preached by the Rev. Mr. Close in the
old cook house. The first lawsuit&mdash;which was the
trial of the mate of the Franklin Adams, for selling
ship&#8217;s stores and appropriating the proceeds&mdash;came
off, of course, in the old cook house. Justice
Maynard presided at this trial, and the accused
was discharged from the old cook house
with the wholesome advice that in future he
should be careful to make a correct return of all
his private sales of other people&#8217;s property.</p>

<p>&#8220;Who, then, knowing the full history of this<span class="pagenum">[Pg 90]</span>
famous old relic of early times, can wonder that
it has so long been suffered to stand and moulder,
unused, in the midst of the more gaudy surroundings
of a later civilization? And who can think
it strange, when, at last, its old smoky walls were
compelled to yield to the pressure of progression,
and be tumbled heedlessly into the street, that the
old settler looked sorrowfully upon the vandal
destruction, and silently dropped a tear over its
leveled ruins. Peace to the ashes of the old cook
house.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>While the pioneers lingered in the settlement,
they enjoyed the luxury of living in houses
of sawed lumber. Time has worked out his revenges
until what was then disesteemed is much
admired now. A substantial and picturesque
lodge of logs, furnished with modern contrivances
is now regarded as quite desirable, for summer
occupation at least.</p>

<p>The struggle of the Indians to regain their
domain resulted in many sanguinary conflicts.
The bloody wave of war ran hither and yon until
spent and the doom of the passing race was
sealed.</p>

<p>Seattle and the whole Puget Sound region
were set back ten years in development. Toilsome
years they were that stretched before the
pioneers. They and their families were obliged
to do whatever they could to obtain a livelihood;
they were neither ashamed nor afraid of honest<span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
work and doubtless enjoyed the reward of a good
conscience and vigorous health.</p>

<p>Life held many pleasures and much freedom
from modern fret besides. As one of them observed,
&#8220;We were happy then, in our log cabin
homes.&#8221;</p>

<p>Long after the incidents herein related occurred,
one of the survivors of the White River
massacre wrote the following letter, which was
published in a local paper:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Burgh Hill, Ohio, Sept. 8.&mdash;I notice occasionally
a pioneer sketch in the Post-Intelligencer
relating some incident in the war of 1855-56.
I have a vivid recollection of this, being a
member of one of the families concerned therein.
I remember distinctly the attack upon the fort at
Seattle in January, 1856. Though a child, the
murdering of my mother and step-father by the
Indians a few weeks before made such an impression
upon my mind that I was terror-stricken
at the thought of another massacre, and the details
are indelibly and most vividly fixed in my
mind. When I read of the marvelous growth of
Seattle I can hardly realize that it is possible. I
add my mite to the pioneer history of Seattle and
vicinity.</p>

<p>&#8220;I was born in Harrison township, Grant
county, Wisconsin, November 13, 1848. When I
was five months old my father started for the
gold diggings in California, but died shortly after
reaching that state. In the early part of 1851 my<span class="pagenum">[Pg 92]</span>
mother married Harvey Jones. In the spring of
1854 we started for Washington territory, overland,
reaching our destination on White river in
the fall, having been six months and five days in
making the trip. Our route lay through Iowa,
Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon and Washington
territory. To speak in detail of all my
recollections of this journey would make this article
too lengthy.</p>

<p>&#8220;My step-father took up land on White river
some twenty miles up the stream from Seattle.
At that time there were only five or six families
in the settlement, the nearest neighbor to us being
about one-fourth mile distant. During the summer
of 1855 I went some two and a half miles to
school along a path through the dense woods in
danger both from wild animals and Indians.
Some of the settlers became alarmed at reports
of hostile intentions by the Indians upon our
settlement and left some two weeks before the
outbreak. Among those who thought their fears
groundless and remained was our family.</p>

<p>&#8220;On Sunday morning, October 28, 1855,
while at breakfast we were surprised, and the
house surrounded by a band of hostile Indians,
who came running from the grass and bushes,
whooping and discharging firearms. They seemed
to rise from the ground so sudden and stealthy
had been the attack. Our family consisted of my
step-father (sick at the time), my mother, a half-sister,
not quite four years old, a half-brother,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 93]</span>
not quite two, a hired man, Cooper by name, and
myself.</p>

<p>&#8220;As soon as the Indians began firing into the
house my mother covered us children over with a
feather bed in the corner of one of the rooms
farthest from the side attacked. In a short time
it became evident we were entirely at the mercy
of the savages, and after a hurried consultation
between my mother and the hired man, he concluded
to attempt to escape by flight; accordingly
he came into the room where I was, and with an
ax pried off the casing of the window and removed
the lower sash, and then jumped out, but
as was afterward learned he was shot when only
a few rods from the house.</p>

<p>&#8220;My step-father was shot about the same time
inside the house while passing from his room to
the one in which my mother was. In a short time
there appeared to be a cessation of the firing, and
upon looking out from under the bed over us I
saw an Indian in the next room carrying something
out. Soon we were taken out by them. I
did not see my mother. We were placed in the
charge of the leader of the band who directed
them in their actions. They put bedclothes and
other combustible articles under the house and set
fire to them, and in this way burned the house.
When it was well nigh burned to the ground, we
were led away by one of the tribe, who in a short
time allowed us to go where we pleased. I first
went to the nearest neighbor&#8217;s, but all was con<span class="pagenum">[Pg 94]</span>fusion,
and no one was about. I then came back
to the burned house.</p>

<p>&#8220;I found my mother a short distance from
the house, or where it had stood, still alive. She
warned me to leave speedily and soon. I begged
to stay with her but she urged me to flee. We
made a dinner of some potatoes which had been
baked by the fire. I carried my little half-brother
and led my half-sister along the path to where I
had gone to school during the summer, but there
was no one there. I went still further on, but
they, too, had gone. I came back to the school
house, not knowing what to do. It was getting
late. I was tired, as was my sister. My little
brother was fretful, and cried to see his mother.
I had carried him some three and a half or four
miles altogether.</p>

<p>&#8220;While trying to quiet them I saw an Indian
coming toward us. He had not seen us. I hid the
children in the bushes and moved toward him to
meet him. I soon had the relief to recognize in
him an acquaintance I had often seen while attending
school. We knew him as Dave. He told
me to bring the children to his wigwam. His
squaw was very kind, but my sister and brother
were afraid of her. In the night he took us in a
canoe down the river to Seattle. I was taken on
board the man-of-war, Decatur, and they were
placed in charge of some one in the fort. An
uncle, John Smale, had crossed the plains when
we did, but went to California. He was written<span class="pagenum">[Pg 95]</span>
to about the massacre, and reached us in June,
1856. We went to San Francisco and then to the
Isthmus, and from there we went to New York
city. From there we were taken to Wisconsin,
where my sister and brother remained. I was
brought back to Ohio in September, 1856. They
both died in October, 1864, of diphtheria, in Wisconsin.&#8221;</p>

<p class="quotsig">&#8220;<span class="smcap">John I. King</span>, M. D.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p>
<h2>>CHAPTER V.<br />

<span class="smaller">THE MURDER OF MCCORMICK.</span></h2>

<p>The shores of Lake Union, in Seattle, now
surrounded by electric and steam railways, saw
mills and manufactories, dwellings and public
buildings, were clothed with a magnificent, dense,
primeval forest, when the adventurous pioneers
first looked upon its mirror-like surface. The
shadowy depths of the solemn woods held many
a dark and tragic secret; contests between enemies
in both brute and human forms were doubtless
not infrequently hidden there.</p>

<p>Many men came to the far northwest unheralded
and unknown to the few already established,
and wandering about without guides, unacquainted
with the dangers peculiar to the
region, were incautious and met a mysterious
fate.</p>

<p>For a long time the &#8220;Pioneer and Democrat,&#8221;
of Olympia, Washington, one of the
earliest newspapers of the northwest, published
an advertisement in its columns inquiring for
James Montgomery McCormick, sent to it from
Pennsylvania. It is thought to have been one and
the same person with the subject of this sketch.
Even if it were not, the name will do as well as
any other.</p>

<p>One brilliant summer day in July of 1853,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 97]</span>
a medium sized man, past middle age, was pushing
his way through the black raspberry jungle
on the east side of Lake Union, gathering handfuls
of the luscious fruit that hung in rich purple
clusters above his head. A cool bubbling spring,
that came from far up the divide toward Lake
Washington, tempted him and stooping down he
drank of the refreshing stream where it filled a
little pool in the shadow of a mossy log. Glancing
about him, he marked with a keen delight the
loveliness of the vegetation, the plumy ferns, velvet
mosses and drooping cedars; how grateful to
him must have been the cool north breeze wandering
through the forest! No doubt he thought
it a pleasant place to rest in before returning to
the far away settlement. Upon the mossy log he
sat contentedly, marveling at the stillness of the
mighty forest.</p>

<p>The thought had scarcely formed itself when
he was startled by the dipping of paddles, wild
laughter and vociferous imitations of animals
and birds. A canoe grated on the beach and
after a brief expectant interval, tramping feet
along the trail betokened an arrival and a group
of young Indians came in sight, one of whom
carried a Hudson Bay musket.</p>

<p>&#8220;Kla-how-ya&#8221; (How do you do), said the
leader, a flathead, with shining skin recently
oiled, sinister black brows, and thick black hair
cut square and even at the neck.</p>

<p>At first they whistled and muttered, affect<span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98">[Pg 98]</a></span>ing
little interest in his appearance, yet all the
while were keenly studying him.</p>

<p>The white man had with him a rifle, revolver
and camp ax. The young savages examined
the gun, lifting it up and sighting at a knot-hole
in a distant tree; then the ax, the sharp edge of
which they fingered, and the revolver, to their
minds yet more fascinating.</p>

<p>They were slightly disdainful as though not
caring to own such articles, thereby allaying any
fears he may have had as to their intentions.
Being able to converse but little with the natives,
the stranger good-naturedly permitted them to
examine his weapons and even his clothing came
under their scrutiny. His garments were new,
and well adapted to frontier life.</p>

<p>When he supposed their curiosity satisfied,
he rose to go, when one of the Indians asked him,
&#8220;Halo chicamum?&#8221; (Have you any money?) he
incautiously slapped his hip pocket and answered
&#8220;Hiyu chicamum&#8221; (plenty of money), perhaps
imagining they did not know its use or value,
then started on the trail.</p>

<p>They let him go a little way out of sight and
in a few, half-whispered, eager, savage words
agreed to follow him, with what purpose did not
require a full explanation.</p>

<p>Noiselessly and swiftly they followed on his
track. One shot from the musket struck him in
the back of the head and he fell forward and
they rushed upon him, seized the camp ax and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 99]</span>
dealt repeated blows; life extinct, they soon
stripped him of coat, shirt, and pantaloons,
rifled the pockets, finding $200 and a few small
trinkets, knife or keys. With the haste of guilt
they threw the body still clothed in a suit of undergarments,
behind a big log, among the bushes
and hurried away with their booty, paddling
swiftly far up the lake to their camp.</p>

<p>A dark, cloudy night followed and the Indians
huddled around a little fire, ever and anon
starting at some sound in the gloomy forest. Already
very superstitious, their guilt made them
doubly afraid of imaginary foes. On a piece of
mat in the center of the group lay the money,
revolver, etc., of which they had robbed the unfortunate
white man. They intended to divide
them by &#8220;slahal,&#8221; the native game played with
&#8220;stobsh&#8221; and &#8220;slanna&#8221; (men and women), as
they called the round black and white disks with
which they gambled. A bunch of shredded cedar
bark was brought from the canoe and the game
began. All were very skillful and continued for
several hours, until at last they counted the
clothes to one, all the money to another, and the
revolver and trifles to the rest. One of the less
fortunate in a very bad humor said &#8220;The game
was not good, I don&#8217;t want this little &#8216;cultus&#8217;
(worthless) thing.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;O, you are stupid and don&#8217;t understand
it,&#8221; they answered tauntingly, thereupon he
rolled himself in his blanket and sulked himself<span class="pagenum">[Pg 100]</span>
to sleep, while the others sat half dreamily planning
what they would do with their booty.</p>

<p>Very early they made the portage between
Lakes Union and Washington and returned to
their homes.</p>

<p>But they did not escape detection.</p>

<p>Only a few days afterward an Indian woman,
the wife of Hu-hu-bate-sute or &#8220;Salmon Bay
Curley,&#8221; crossed Lake Union to the black raspberry
patch to gather the berries. Creeping here
and there through the thick undergrowth, she
came upon a gruesome sight, the disfigured body
of the murdered white man. Scarcely waiting
for a horrified &#8220;Achada!&#8221; she fled incontinently
to her canoe and paddled quickly home to tell her
husband. Hu-hu-bate-sute went back with her
and arrived at the spot, where one log lay across
another, hollowed out the earth slightly, rolled
in and covered the body near the place where it
was discovered.</p>

<p>Suspecting it was the work of some wild,
reckless Indians he said nothing about it.</p>

<p>Their ill-gotten gains troubled the perpetrators
of the deed, brought them no good fortune
and they began to think there was &#8220;tamanuse&#8221;
about them; they gave the revolver away,
bestowed the small articles on some unsuspecting
&#8220;tenas&#8221; (children) and gave a part of the
money to &#8220;Old Steve,&#8221; whose Indian name was
Stemalyu.</p>

<p>The one who criticised the division of the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 101]</span>
spoils, whispered about among the other Indians
dark hints concerning the origin of the suddenly
acquired wealth and gradually a feeling arose
against those who had the money. Quarreling
one day over some trifle, one of them scornfully
referred to the other&#8217;s part of the cruel deed:
&#8220;You are wicked, you killed a white man,&#8221; said
he. The swarthy face of the accused grew livid
with rage and he plunged viciously at the speaker,
but turning, eel-like, the accuser slipped
away and ran out of sight into the forest. An
old Indian followed him and asked &#8220;What was
that you said?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;O nothing, just idle talk.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;You had better tell me,&#8221; said the old man
sternly.</p>

<p>After some hesitation he told the story. The
old man was deeply grieved and so uneasy that
he went all the way to Shilshole (Salmon Bay)
to see if his friend Hu-hu-bate-sute knew anything
about it and that discreet person astonished
him by telling him his share of the story. By
degrees it became known to the Indians on both
lakes and at the settlement.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the wife of the one accused in
the contention, took the money and secretly dropped
it into the lake.</p>

<p>One warm September day in the fall of the
same year, quite a concourse of Indians were
gathered out doors near the big Indian house a
little north of D. T. Denny&#8217;s home in the set<span class="pagenum">[Pg 102]</span>tlement
(Seattle); they were having a great
&#8220;wa-wa&#8221; (talk) about something; he walked
over and asked them what it was all about.</p>

<p>&#8220;Salmon Bay Curley,&#8221; who was among
them, thereupon told him of the murder and the
distribution of the valuables.</p>

<p>Shortly after, W. N. Bell, D. T. Denny, Dr.
Maynard, E. A. Clark and one or two others,
with Curley as a guide, went out to the lake,
found the place and at first thought of removing
the body, but that being impossible, Dr. Maynard
placed the skull, or rather the fragments of it,
in a handkerchief and took the two pairs of
spectacles, one gold-rimmed, the other steel-rimmed,
which were left by the Indians, and all
returned to the settlement to make their report.</p>

<p>Investigation followed and as a result four
Indians were arrested. A trial before a Justice
Court was held in the old Felker house, which
was built by Captain Felker and was the first
large frame house of sawed lumber erected on
the site of Seattle.</p>

<p>At this trial, Klap-ke-lachi Jim testified positively
against two of them and implicated two
others. The first two were summarily executed
by hanging from a tall sharply leaning stump
over which a rope was thrown; it stood where
the New England Hotel was afterward built. A
young Indian and one called Old Petawow were
the others accused.</p>

<p>Petawow was carried into court by two<span class="pagenum">[Pg 103]</span>
young Indians, having somehow broken his leg.
There was not sufficient evidence against him to
convict and he was released.</p>

<p>C. D. Boren was sheriff and for lack of a
jail, the young Indian accused was locked in a
room in his own house.</p>

<p>Not yet satisfied with the work of execution,
a mob headed by E. A. Clark determined to hang
this Indian also. They therefore obtained the
assistance of some sailors with block and tackle
from a ship in the harbor, set up a tripod of
spars, cut for shipment, over which they put the
rope. In order to have the coast clear so they
could break the &#8220;jail,&#8221; a man was sent to Boren&#8217;s
house, who pretended that he wished to buy
some barrels left in Boren&#8217;s care by a cooper
and stacked on the beach some distance away.</p>

<p>The unsuspecting victim of the ruse accompanied
him to the beach where the man detained
him as long as he thought necessary, talking of
barrels, brine and pickling salmon, and perhaps
not liking to miss the &#8220;neck-tie party,&#8221; at last
said, &#8220;Maybe we&#8217;d better get back, the boys are
threatening mischief.&#8221;</p>

<p>Taking the hint instantly, Boren started on
a dead run up the beach in a wild anxiety to save
the Indian&#8217;s life. In sight of the improvised
scaffold he beheld the Indian with the noose
around his neck, E. A. Clark and D. Livingston
near by, a sea captain, who was a mere-on-looker,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 104]</span>
and the four sailors in line with the rope in their
hands, awaiting the order to pull.</p>

<p>The sheriff recovered himself enough to
shout, &#8220;Drop that rope, you rascals!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;O string him up, he&#8217;s nothing but a Siwash,&#8221;
said one.</p>

<p>&#8220;Dry up! you have no right to hang him, he
will be tried at the next term of court,&#8221; said
Boren. The sailors dropped the rope, Boren removed
the noose from the neck of the Indian,
who was silent, bravely enduring the indignity
from the mob. The majesty of the law was recognized
and the crowd dispersed.</p>

<p>The Indian was sent to Steilacoom, where he
was kept in jail for six months, but when tried
there was no additional evidence and he was
therefore released. Returning to his people he
changed his name, taking that of his father&#8217;s
cousin, and has lived a quiet and peaceable life
throughout the years.</p>

<p>Sad indeed seems the fate of this unknown
wanderer, but not so much so as that of others
who came to the Northwest to waste their lives
in riotous living and were themselves responsible
for a tragic end of a wicked career, so often sorrowfully
witnessed by the sober and steadfast.</p>

<p>Of the participants in this exciting episode,
D. T. Denny, C. D. Boren and the Indian, whose
life was so promptly and courageously saved
by C. D. Boren from an ignominious death, are
(in 1892) still living in King County, Washington.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI.<br />

<span class="smaller">KILLING COUGARS.</span></h2>

<p>It was springtime in an early year of pioneer
times. D. T. and Louisa Denny were living
in their log cabin in the swale, an opening
in the midst of the great forest, about midway
between Elliott Bay and Lake Union. Not very
far away was their only neighbor, Thomas
Mercer, with his family of several young daughters.</p>

<p>On a pleasant morning, balmy with the
presage of coming summer, as the two pioneers,
David T. Denny and Thomas Mercer, wended,
their way to their task of cutting timber, they
observed some of the cattle lying down in an
open space, and heard the tinkling bell of one
of the little band wandering about cropping fresh
spring herbage in the edge of the woods. They
looked with a feeling of affection at the faithful
dumb creatures who were to aid in affording
sustenance, as well as a sort of friendly companionship
in the lonely wilds.</p>

<p>After a long, sunny day spent in swinging
the ax, whistling, singing and chatting, they returned
to their cabins as the shadows were deepening
in the mighty forest.</p>

<p><a id="V" name="V"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 328px;">
<img src="images/opp105.png" width="328" height="500" alt="" title="LOG CABIN IN THE SWALE" />
<span class="caption">LOG CABIN IN THE SWALE</span>
</div>

<p>In the first cabin there was considerable
anxiety manifested by the mistress of the same,
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 106]</span>revealed in the conversation at the supper table:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;David,&#8221; said she, &#8220;there was something
wrong with the cattle today; I heard a calf bawl
as if something had caught it and &#8216;Whiteface&#8217;
came up all muddy and distressed looking.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Is that so? Did you look to see what it
was?&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;I started to go but the baby cried so that I
had to come back. A little while before that I
thought I heard an Indian halloo and looked out
of the door expecting to see him come down to
the trail, but I did not see anything at all.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;What could it be? Well, it is so dark now
in the woods that I can&#8217;t see anything; I will
have to wait until tomorrow.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Early the next morning, David went up to
the place where he had seen the calves the day
before, taking &#8220;Towser,&#8221; a large Newfoundland
dog with him, also a long western rifle he
had brought across the plains.</p>

<p>Not so many rods away from the cabin he
found the remnants of a calf upon which some
wild beast had feasted the day previous.</p>

<p>There were large tracks all around easily
followed, as the ground was soft with spring
rains. Towser ran out into the thick timber hard
after a wild creature, and David heard something
scratch and run up a tree and thought it must be
a wild cat.</p>

<p>No white person had ever seen any larger
specimen of the feline race in this region.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>

<p>He stepped up to a big fir log and walked
along perhaps fifty feet and looking up a giant
cedar tree saw a huge cougar glaring down at
him with great, savage yellow eyes, crouching
motionless, except for the incessant twitching,
to and fro, of the tip of its tail, as a cat does
when watching a mouse.</p>

<p>Right before him in so convenient a place
as to attract his attention, stood a large limb
which had fallen and stuck into the ground
alongside the log he was standing on, so he
promptly rested his gun on it, but it sank into the
soft earth from the weight of the gun and he
quickly drew up, aiming at the chest of the
cougar.</p>

<p>The gun missed fire.</p>

<p>Fearing the animal would spring upon him,
he walked back along the log about twenty feet,
took a pin out of his coat and picked out the
tube, poured in fresh powder from his powder
horn and put on a fresh cap.</p>

<p>All the time the yellow eyes watched him.</p>

<p>Advancing again, he fired; the bullet struck
through its vitals, but away it went bolting up
the tree quite a distance. Another bullet was
rammed home in the old muzzle loader. The
cougar was dying, but still held on by its claws
stuck in the bark of the tree, its head resting on
a limb. Receiving one more shot in the head it
let go and came hurtling down to the ground.</p>

<p>Towser was wild with savage delight and bit<span class="pagenum">[Pg 108]</span>
his prostrate enemy many times, chewing at the
neck until it was a mass of foam, but not once did
his sharp teeth penetrate the tough, thick hide.</p>

<p>Hurrying back, David called for Mercer, a
genial man always ready to lend a hand, to help
him get the beast out to the cabin. The two men
found it very heavy, all they could stagger under,
even the short distance it had to be carried.</p>

<p>As soon as the killing of the cougar was reported
in the settlement, two miles away, everybody
turned out to see the monster.</p>

<p>Mrs. Catherine Blaine, the school teacher,
who had gone home with the Mercer children,
saw the animal and marveled at its size.</p>

<p>Henry L. Yesler and all the mill hands repaired
to the spot to view the dead monarch of
the forest, none of whom had seen his like before.
Large tracks had been seen in various
places but were credited to timber wolves. This
cougar&#8217;s forearm measured the same as the leg
of a large horse just above the knee joint.</p>

<p>Such an animal, if it jumped down from a
considerable height, would carry a man to the
ground with such force as to stun him, when he
could be clawed and chewed up at the creature&#8217;s
will.</p>

<p>While the curious and admiring crowd were
measuring and guessing at the weight of the
cougar, Mr. Yesler called at the cabin. He kept
looking about while he talked and finally said,
&#8220;You are quite high-toned here, I see your house<span class="pagenum">[Pg 109]</span>
is papered,&#8221; at which all laughed good-naturedly.
Not all the cabins were &#8220;papered,&#8221; but this
one was made quite neat by means of newspapers
pasted on the walls, the finishing touch being a
border of nothing more expensive than blue
calico.</p>

<p>At last they were all satisfied with their inspection
of the first cougar and returned to the
settlement.</p>

<p>A moral might be pinned here: if this cougar
had not dined so gluttonously on the tender calf,
which no doubt made excellent veal, possibly he
would not have come to such a sudden and violent
end.</p>

<p>Had some skillful taxidermist been at hand
to mount this splendid specimen of Felis Concolor,
the first killed by a white man in this region,
it would now be very highly prized.</p>

<p>Some imagine that the danger of encounters
with cougars has been purposely exaggerated by
the pioneer hunters to create admiring respect
for their own prowess. This is not my opinion,
as I believe there is good reason to fear them,
especially if they are hungry.</p>

<p>They are large, swift and agile, and have
the advantage in the dense forest of the northwest
Pacific coast, as they can station themselves
in tall trees amid thick foliage and pounce upon
deer, cattle and human beings.</p>

<p>Several years after the killing of the first
specimen, a cow was caught in the jaw by a coug<span class="pagenum">[Pg 110]</span>ar,
but wrenched herself away in terror and pain
and ran home with the whole frightened herd at
her heels, into the settlement of Seattle.</p>

<p>The natives have always feared them and
would much rather meet a bear than a cougar,
as the former will, ordinarily, run away, while
the latter is hard to scare and is liable to follow
and spring out of the thick undergrowth.</p>

<p>In one instance known to the pioneers first
mentioned in this chapter, an Indian woman who
was washing at the edge of a stream beat a cougar
off her child with a stick, thereby saving its life.</p>

<p>In early days, about 1869 or &#8217;70, a Mr. T.
Cherry, cradling oats in a field in Squowh Valley,
was attacked by a cougar; holding his cradle
between him and the hungry beast, he backed
toward the fence, the animal following until the
fence was reached. A gang of hogs were feeding
just outside the enclosure and the cougar
leaped the fence, seized one of the hogs and ran
off with it.</p>

<p>A saloon-keeper on the Snohomish River,
walking along the trail in the adjacent forest one
day with his yellow dog, was startled by the
sudden accession to their party of a huge and
hungry cougar. The man fled precipitately,
leaving the dog to his fate. The wild beast fell
to and made a meal of the hapless canine, devouring
all but the tip of his yellow tail, which
his sorrowing master found near the trail the
next day.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 111]</span>A lonely pioneer cabin on the Columbia
River was enclosed by a high board fence. One
sunny day as the two children of the family were
playing in the yard, a cougar sprang from a
neighboring tree and caught one of the children;
the mother ran out and beat off the murderous
beast, but the child was dead.</p>

<p>She then walked six or seven miles to a settlement
carrying the dead child, while leading
the other. What a task! The precious burden,
the heavier load of sorrow, the care of the remaining
child, the dread of a renewed attack
from the cougar and the bodily fatigue incident
to such a journey, forming an experience upon
which it would be painful to dwell.</p>

<p>Many more such incidents might be given,
but I am reminded at this point that they would
appropriately appear in another volume.</p>

<p>Since the first settlement there have been
killed in King County nearly thirty of these animals.</p>

<p>C. Brownfield, an old settler on Lake Union,
killed several with the aid of &#8220;Jack,&#8221; a yellow
dog which belonged to D. T. Denny for a time,
then to A. A. Denny.</p>

<p>C. D. Boren, with his dog, killed others.</p>

<p>Moses Kirkland brought a dog from Louisiana,
a half bloodhound, with which Henry Van
Asselt hunted and killed several cougars.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny killed one in the region occupied
by the suburb of Seattle known as Ross. It<span class="pagenum">[Pg 112]</span>
had been dining off mutton secured from Dr. H.
A. Smith&#8217;s flock of sheep. It was half grown
and much the color of a deer.</p>

<p>Toward Lake Washington another flock of
sheep had been visited by a cougar, and Mr. Wetmore
borrowed D. T. Denny&#8217;s little dog
&#8220;Watch,&#8221; who treed the animal, remaining by
it all night, but it escaped until a trap was set,
when, being more hungry than cautious, it was
secured.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br />

<span class="smaller">PIONEER CHILD LIFE.</span></h2>

<p>The very thought of it makes the blood tingle
and the heart leap. No element was wanting
for romance or adventure. Indians, bears, panthers,
far journeys, in canoes or on horseback,
fording rivers, camping and tramping, and all
in a virgin wilderness so full of grandeur and
loveliness that even very little children were impressed
by the appearance thereof. The strangeness
and newness of it all was hardly understood
by the native white children as they had
no means of comparing this region and mode of
life with other countries and customs.</p>

<p>Traditions did not trouble us; the Indians
were generally friendly, the bears were only
black ones and ran away from us as fast as their
furry legs would carry them; the panthers did
not care to eat us up, we felt assured, while there
was plenty of venison to be had by stalking, and
on a journey we rode safely, either on the pommel
of father&#8217;s saddle or behind mother&#8217;s, clinging
like small kittens or cockleburs.</p>

<p>Familiarity with the coquettish canoe made
us perfectly at home with it, and in later years
when the tenderfoot arrived, we were convulsed
with inextinguishable laughter at what seemed to
us an unreasoning terror of a harmless craft.</p>

<p><a id="VI" name="VI"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 288px;">
<img src="images/opp113.jpg" width="288" height="500" alt="" title="WHERE WE WANDERED LONG AGO" />
<span class="caption">WHERE WE WANDERED LONG AGO</span>
</div>

<p>Ah! we lived close to dear nature then! Our
play-grounds were the brown beaches or the hillsides
covered with plumy young fir trees, the
alder groves or the slashings where we hacked
and chopped with our little hatchets in imitation
of our elders or the Father of His Country and
namesake of our state. Running on long logs,
the prostrate trunks of trees several hundred
feet long, and jumping from one to another was
found to be an exhilarating pastime.</p>

<p>When the frolicsome Chinook wind came
singing across the Sound, the boys flew home
built kites of more or less ambitious proportions
and the little girls ran down the hills, performing
a peculiar skirt dance by taking the gown by the
hem on either side and turning the skirt half
over the head. Facing the wind it assumed a
baloonlike inflation very pleasing to the small
performer. It was thought the proper thing to
let the hair out of net or braids at the time, as
the sensation of air permeating long locks was
sufficient excuse for its &#8220;weirdness&#8221; as I suppose
we would have politely termed it had we ever
heard the word. Instead we were more likely to
be reproved for having such untidy heads and
perhaps reminded that we looked as wild as Indians.
&#8220;As wild as Indians,&#8221; the poor Indians!
How they admired the native white children!
Without ceremony they claimed blood brotherhood,
saying, &#8220;You were born in our &#8216;illahee&#8217;
(country) and are our &#8216;tillicum&#8217; (people).<span class="pagenum">[Pg 115]</span>
You eat the same food, will grow up here and
belong to us.&#8221;</p>

<p>Often we were sung to sleep at night by their
&#8220;tamanuse&#8221; singing, as we lived quite near the
bank below which many Indians camped, on Elliott
Bay.</p>

<p>I never met with the least rudeness or suffered
the slightest injury from an Indian except
on one occasion. Walking upon the beach one
day three white children drew near a group of
Indian camps. Almost deserted they were, probably
the inhabitants had gone fishing; the only
being visible was a boy about ten years of age.
Snarling out some bitter words in an unknown
tongue, he flung a stone which struck hard a
small head, making a slight scalp wound. Such
eyes! they fairly glittered with hatred. We hurried
home, the victim crying with the pain inflicted,
and learned afterward that the boy was
none of our &#8220;tillicum&#8221; but a stranger from the
Snohomish tribe. What cruel wrong had he
witnessed or suffered to make him so full of bitterness?</p>

<p>The Indian children were usually quite amiable
in disposition, and it seemed hard to refuse
their friendly advances which it became necessary
to do. In their primitive state they seemed
perfectly healthy and happy little creatures.
They never had the toothache; just think of that,
ye small consumers of colored candies! Unknown
to them was the creeping horror that<span class="pagenum">[Pg 116]</span>
white children feel when about to enter the terrible
dentist&#8217;s den. They had their favorite fear,
however, the frightful &#8220;statalth,&#8221; or &#8220;stick siwash,&#8221;
that haunted the great forest. As near
as we could ascertain, these were the ghosts of a
long dead race of savages who had been of gigantic
stature and whose ghosts were likewise very
tall and dreadful and very fond of chasing people
out of the woods on dark nights. Plenty of
little white people know what the sensation is,
produced by imagining that something is coming
after them in the dark.</p>

<p>I have seen a big, brawny, tough looking Indian
running as fast as he could go, holding a
blazing pitchwood torch over his head while he
glanced furtively over his shoulder for the approaching
statalth.</p>

<p>Both white and Indian children were afraid
of the Northern Indians, especially the Stickeens,
who were head-takers.</p>

<p>We were seldom panic stricken; born amid
dangers there seemed nothing novel about them
and we took our environment as a matter of
course. We were taught to be courageous but
not foolhardy, which may account for our not
getting oftener in trouble.</p>

<p>The boys learned to shoot and shoot well at
an early age, first with shot guns, then rifles.
Sometimes the girls proved dangerous with firearms
in their hands. A sister of the writer
learned to shoot off the head of a grouse at long<span class="pagenum">[Pg 117]</span>
range. A girl schoolmate, when scarcely grown,
shot and killed a bear. My brothers and cousin,
Wm. R. Boren, were good shots at a tender age
and killed numerous bears, deer, grouse, pheasants,
ducks, wild pigeon, etc., in and about the
district now occupied by the city of Seattle.</p>

<p>The wild flowers and the birds interested us
deeply and every spring we joyfully noted the
returning bluebirds and robins, the migrating
wren and a number of other charming feathered
friends. The high banks, not then demolished by
grades, were smothered in greenery and hung
with banners of bloom every succeeding season.</p>

<p>We clambered up and down the steep places
gathering armfuls of lillies (trillium), red currant
(ribes sanguineum), Indian-arrow-wood
(spiraea), snowy syringa (philadelphus) and
blue forgetmenots and the yellow blossoms of the
Oregon grape (berberis glumacea and aquifolium),
which we munched with satisfaction for
the <i>soursweet</i>, and the scarlet honeysuckle to bite
off the honeyglands for a like purpose.</p>

<p>The salmonberry and blackberry seasons
were quite delightful. To plunge into the thick
jungle, now traversed by Pike Street, Seattle,
was a great treat. There blackberries attained
Brobdignagian hugeness, rich and delicious.</p>

<p>On a Saturday, our favorite reward for lessons
and work well done, was to be allowed to
go down the lovely beach with its wide strip of
variegated shingle and bands of brown, ribbed<span class="pagenum">[Pg 118]</span>
sand, as far as the &#8220;three big stones,&#8221; no farther,
as there were bears, panthers and Indians, as
hereinbefore stated, inhabiting the regions
round about.</p>

<p>One brilliant April day we felt very brave,
we were bigger than ever before, five was quite
a party, and the flowers were O! so enchanting
a little farther on. Two of us climbed the bank
to gather the tempting blossoms.</p>

<p>Our little dog, &#8220;Watch,&#8221; a very intelligent
animal, took the lead; scarcely had we gained
the top and essayed to break the branch of a
wild currant, gay with rose colored blossoms,
when Watch showed unusual excitement about
something, a mysterious something occupying
the cavernous depths of an immense hollow log.
With his bristles up, rage and terror in every
quivering muscle, he was slowly, very slowly,
backing toward us.</p>

<p>Although in the woods often, we had never
seen him act so before. We took the hint and
to our heels, tumbled down the yielding, yellow
bank in an exceedingly hasty and unceremonious
manner, gathered up our party of thoroughly
frightened youngsters and hurried along the sand
homeward, at a double quick pace.</p>

<p>Hardly stopping for a backward glance to
see if the &#8220;something&#8221; was coming after us, we
reached home, safe but subdued.</p>

<p>Not many days after the young truants were
invited down to an Indian camp to see the car<span class="pagenum">[Pg 119]</span>cass
of a cougar about nine feet long. There it
lay, stretched out full length, its hard, white
teeth visible beyond the shrunken lips, its huge
paws quite helpless and harmless.</p>

<p>It is more than probable that this was the
&#8220;something&#8221; in the great hollow log, as it was
killed in the vicinity of the place where our
stampede occurred.</p>

<p>Evidently Watch felt his responsibility and
did the best he could to divert the enemy while
we escaped.</p>

<p>The dense forest hid many an unseen danger
in early days and it transpired that I never
saw a live cougar in the woods, but even a dead
one may produce real old fashioned fright in a
spectator.</p>

<p>Having occasion, when attending the University,
at the age of twelve, to visit the library
of that institution, a strange adventure befell
me; the selection of a book absorbed my mind
very fully and I was unprepared for a sudden
change of thought. Turning from the shelves,
a terrible sight met my eyes, a ferocious wild
beast, all its fangs exhibited, in the opposite corner
of the room. How did each particular hair
stand upright and perspiration ooze from every
pore! A moment passed and a complete collapse
of the illusion left the victim weak and
disgusted; it was only the stuffed cougar given
to the Faculty to be the nucleus of a great collection.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 120]</span>The young Washingtonians, called &#8220;clam-diggers,&#8221;
were usually well fed, what with venison,
fish, grouse and berries, game of many
kinds, and creatures of the sea, they were really
pampered, in the memory of the writer. But it
is related by those who experienced the privations
incident to the first year or two of white
settlement, that the children were sometimes
hungry for bread, especially during the first
winter at Alki. Fish and potatoes were plentiful,
obtained from the Indians, syrup from a
vessel in the harbor, but bread was scarce. On
one occasion, a little girl of one of the four white
families on Elliott Bay, was observed to pick
up an old crust and carry it around in her pocket.
When asked what she intended to do with that
crust, with childish simplicity she replied, &#8220;Save
it to eat with syrup at dinner.&#8221; Not able to resist
its delicious flavor she kept nibbling away at
the crust until scarcely a crumb remained; its
dessicated surface had no opportunity to be
masked with treacle.</p>

<p>To look back upon our pioneer menu is quite
tantalizing.</p>

<p>The fish, of many excellent kinds, from the
&#8220;salt-chuck,&#8221; brought fresh and flapping to our
doors, in native baskets by Indian fishermen,
cooked in many appetizing ways; clams of all
sizes from the huge bivalves weighing three-quarters
of a pound a piece to the tiny white soup
clam; sustain me, O my muse, if I attempt to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
describe their excellence. Every conceivable
preparation, soup, stew, baked, pie, fry or chowder
was tried with the happiest results. The
Puget Sound oyster, not the stale, globe-trotting
oyster of however aristocratic antecedents, the
enjoyment in eating of which is chiefly as a reminiscence,
but the fresh western oyster, was much
esteemed.</p>

<p>The crab, too, figured prominently on the bill
of fare, dropped alive in boiling water and served
in scarlet, <i>a la naturel</i>.</p>

<p>A pioneer family gathered about the table
enjoying a feast of the stalk-eyed crustaceans,
were treated to a little diversion in this wise.
The room was small, used for both kitchen and
diningroom, as the house boasted of but two or
three rooms, consequently space was economized.</p>

<p>A fine basket of crabs traded from an Indian
were put in a tin pan and set under the
table; several were cooked, the rest left alive.
As one of the children was proceeding with the
dismemberment necessary to extract the delicate
meat, as if to seek its fellows, the crab slipped
from her grasp and slid beneath the table. Stooping
down she hastily seized her crab, as she supposed,
but to her utter astonishment it seemed to
have come to life, it <i>was</i> alive, kicking and
snapping. In a moment the table was in an uproar
of crab catching and wild laughter. The
mother of the astonished child declares that to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 122]</span>
this day she cannot help laughing whenever she
thinks of the crab that came to life.</p>

<p>It was to this home that John and Sarah
Denny, and their little daughter, Loretta, came
to visit their son, daughter and the grandchildren,
in the winter of 1857-8.</p>

<p>Grandmother was tall and straight, dressed
in a plain, dark gown, black silk apron and lace
cap; her hair, coal black, slightly gray on the
temples; her eyes dark, soft and gentle. She
brought a little treat of Oregon apples from their
farm in the Waldo Hills, to the children, who
thought them the most wonderful fruit they had
ever seen, more desirable than the golden apples
of Hesperides.</p>

<p>We were to return with them, joyful news!
What visions of bliss arose before us! new places
to see and all the nice things and good times we
children could have at grandfather&#8217;s farm.</p>

<p>When the day came, in the long, dark canoe,
manned by a crew of Indians, we embarked for
Olympia, the head of navigation, bidding &#8220;good-bye&#8221;
to our friends, few but precious, who
watched us from the bank, among whom were an
old man and his little daughter.</p>

<p>A few days before he had been sick and one
of the party sent him a steaming cup of ginger
and milk which, although simple, had proved
efficacious; ere we reached our home again he
showed his gratitude in a substantial manner, as
will be seen farther on.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 123]</span>At one beautiful resting place, the canoe
slid up against a strip of shingle covered with
delicate shells; we were delighted to be allowed
to walk about, after sitting curled up in the bottom
of the canoe for a long time, to gather crab,
pecten and periwinkle shells, even extending our
ramble to a lovely grove of dark young evergreens,
standing in a grassy meadow.</p>

<p>The first night of the journey was spent in
Steilacoom. It was March of 1858 and it was
chilly traveling on the big salt water. We were
cold and hungry but the keeper of the one hotel
in the place had retired and refused to be
aroused, so we turned to the only store, where
the proprietor received us kindly, brought out
new blankets to cover us while we camped on the
floor, gave us bread and a hot oyster stew, the
best his place afforded. His generous hospitality
was never forgotten by the grateful recipients
who often spoke of it in after years.</p>

<p>I saw there a &#8220;witches&#8217; scene&#8221; of an old
Indian woman boiling devilfish or octopus in a
kettle over a campfire, splendidly lit against the
gloom of night, and all reflected in the water.</p>

<p>At the break of day we paddled away over
the remainder of the salt-chuck, as the Indians
call the sea, until Stetchas was reached. Stetchas
is &#8220;bear&#8217;s place,&#8221; the Indian name for the site
of Olympia.</p>

<p>From thence the mail stage awaited us to
Cowlitz Landing. The trip over this stretch of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 124]</span>
country was not exactly like a triumphal progress.
The six-horse team plunged and floundered,
while the wagon sank up to the hub in
black mud; the language of the driver has not
been recorded.</p>

<p>At the first stop out from Olympia, the Tilley&#8217;s,
famous in the first annals, entertained us.
At a bountiful and appetizing meal, one of the
articles, boiled eggs, were not cooked to suit
Grandfather John Denny. With amusing bluntness
he sent the chicken out to be killed before
he ate it, complaining that the eggs were not hard
enough. Mrs. Tilly made two or three efforts and
finally set the dish down beside him saying,
&#8220;There, if that isn&#8217;t hard enough you don&#8217;t deserve
to have any.&#8221;</p>

<p>The long rough ride ended at Warbass&#8217;
Landing on the Cowlitz River, a tributary of the
Columbia, and another canoe trip, this time on a
swift and treacherous stream, was safely made
to Monticello, a mere little settlement. A tiny
steamboat, almost microscopic on the wide water,
carried us across the great Columbia with its
sparkling waves, and up the winding Willamette
to Portland, Oregon.</p>

<p>From thence the journey progressed to the
falls below Oregon City.</p>

<p>At the portage, we walked along a narrow
plank walk built up on the side of the river bank
which rose in a high rounded hill. Its noble outline
stood dark with giant firs against a blue<span class="pagenum">[Pg 125]</span>
spring sky; the rushing, silvery flood of the
Willamette swept below us past a bank fringed
with wild currants just coming into bloom.</p>

<p>At the end of the walk there stood a house
which represented itself as a resting place for
weary travelers. We spent the night there but
Alas! for rest; the occupants were convivial and
&#8220;drowned the shamrock&#8221; all night long; as no
doubt they felt obliged to do for wasn&#8217;t it &#8220;St.
Patrick&#8217;s Day in the mornin&#8217;?&#8221;</p>

<p>Most likely we three, the juveniles, slumbered
peacefully until aroused to learn that we
were about to start &#8220;sure enough&#8221; for grandfather&#8217;s
farm in the Waldo Hills.</p>

<p>At length the log cabin home was reached
and our interest deepened in everything about.
So many flowers to gather as they came in lively
processional, blue violets under the oaks, blue-flags
all along the valley; such great, golden buttercups,
larkspurs, and many a wildling we
scarcely called by any name.</p>

<p>All the affairs of the house and garden, field
and pasture seemed by us especially gotten up,
for our amusement and we found endless entertainment
therein.</p>

<p>If a cheese was made or churning done we
were sure to be &#8220;hanging around&#8221; for a green
curd or paring, a taste of sweet butter or a
chance to lift the dasher of the old fashioned
churn. The milking time was enticing, too, and
we trotted down to the milking pen with our<span class="pagenum"><a id="page126" name="page126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
little tin cups for a drink of fresh, warm milk
from the fat, lowing kine, which fed all day on
rich grasses and waited at the edge of the flower
decked valley for the milkers with their pails.</p>

<p>As summer advanced our joys increased, for
there were wild strawberries and such luscious
ones! no berries in after years tasted half so
good.</p>

<p>Some artist has portrayed a group of children
on a sunny slope among the hills, busy with
the scarlet fruit and called it &#8220;The Strawberry
of Memory;&#8221; such was the strawberry of that
summer.</p>

<p>One brilliant June day when all the landscape
was steeped in sunshine we went some distance
from home to gather a large supply. It is
needless to say that we, the juvenile contingent,
improved the opportunity well; and when we sat
at table the following day and grandfather
helped us to generous pieces of strawberry
&#8220;cobbler&#8221; and grandmother poured over them
rich, sweet cream, our satisfaction was complete.
It is likely that if we had heard of the boy who
wished for a neck as long as a giraffe so that he
could taste the good things all the way down, we
would have echoed the sentiment.</p>

<p>Mentioning the giraffe, of the animal also
we probably had no knowledge as books were
few and menageries, none at all.</p>

<p>No lack was felt, however, as the wild animals
were numerous and interesting. The birds,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 127]</span>
rabbits and squirrels were friendly and fearless
then; the birds were especially loved and it was
pleasing to translate their notes into endearments
for ourselves.</p>

<p>But the rolling suns brought round the day
when we must return to our native heath on
Puget Sound. Right sorry were the two little
&#8220;clam-diggers&#8221; to leave the little companion of
delightful days, and grandparents. With a
rush of tears and calling &#8220;good-bye! good-bye!&#8221;
as long as we could see or hear we rode
away in a wagon, beginning the long journey,
full of variety, back to the settlement on Elliott
Bay.</p>

<p>Ourselves, and wagon and team purchased
in the &#8220;web-foot&#8221; country, were carried down
the Willamette and across the sweeping Columbia
on a steamer to Monticello. There the wagon
was loaded into a canoe to ascend the Cowlitz
River, and we mounted the horses for a long
day&#8217;s ride, one of the children on the pommel
of father&#8217;s saddle, the other perched behind on
mother&#8217;s steed.</p>

<p>The forest was so dense through which we
rode for a long distance that the light of noonday
became a feeble twilight, the way was a mere
trail, the salal bushes on either side so tall that
they brushed the feet of the little riders. The
tedium of succeeding miles of this weird wilderness
was beguiled by the stories, gentle warnings
and encouragement from my mother.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 128]</span>The cicadas sang as if it were evening, the
dark woods looked a little fearful and I was
advised to &#8220;Hold on tight and keep awake, there
are bears in these woods.&#8221;</p>

<p>The trail led us to the first crossing of the
Cowlitz River, where father hallooed long and
loud for help to ferry us over, from a lonely
house on the opposite shore, but only echo and
silence returned. The deep, dark stream, sombre
forest and deserted house made an eerie impression
on the children.</p>

<p>The little party boarded the ferryboat and
swimming the horses, alongside crossed without
delay.</p>

<p>The next afternoon saw us nearing the crossing
of the Cowlitz again at Warbass Landing.</p>

<p>The path crossed a pretty open space covered
with ripe yellow grass and set around with
giant trees, just before it vanished in the hurrying
stream.</p>

<p>Father rode on and crossed, quite easily, the
uneven bed of the swift river, with its gravelly
islands and deep pools.</p>

<p>When it came our turn, our patient beast
plunged in and courageously advanced to near
the middle of the stream, wavered and stood still
and seemed about to go down with the current.
How distinctly the green, rapid water, gravelly
shoals and distant bank with its anxious onlookers
is photographed on my memory&#8217;s page!</p>

<p>Only for a moment did the brave animal<span class="pagenum">[Pg 129]</span>
falter and then sturdily worked her way to the
shore. Mr. Warbass, with white face and trembling
voice, said &#8220;I thought you were gone,
sure.&#8221; His coat was off and he had been on the
point of plunging in to save us from drowning,
if possible. Willing hands helped us down and
into the hospitable home, where we were glad
to rest after such a severe trial. A sleepless night
followed for my mother, who suffered from the
reaction common to such experience, although
not panic stricken at the time of danger.</p>

<p>It was here I received my first remembered
lesson in &#8220;meum et tuum.&#8221; While playing under
the fruit trees around the house I spied a
peach lying on the ground, round, red and fair
to see. I took it in to my mother who asked
where I got it, if I had asked for it, etc. I replied
I had found it outdoors.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, it isn&#8217;t yours, go and give it to the
lady and never pick up anything without asking
for it.&#8221;</p>

<p>A lesson that was heeded, and one much
needed by children in these days when individual
rights are so little regarded.</p>

<p>The muddy wagon road between this point
and Olympia over which the teams had struggled
in the springtime was now dry and the wagon
was put together with hope of a fairly comfortable
trip. It was discovered in so doing that the
tongue of the vehicle had been left at Monticello.
Not to be delayed, father repaired to the woods<span class="pagenum">[Pg 130]</span>
and cut a forked ash stick and made it do duty
for the missing portion.</p>

<p>At Olympia we were entertained by Mr. and
Mrs. Dickinson with whom we tarried as we went
to Oregon.</p>

<p>My mother preferred her steed to the steamer
plying on the Sound; that same trip the selfsame
craft blew up.</p>

<p>On horseback again, we followed the trail
from Olympia to the Duwampsh River, over hills
and hollows, out on the prairie or in the dark
forest, at night putting up at the house of a hospitable
settler. From thence we were told that
it was only one day&#8217;s travel but the trail stretched
out amazingly. Night, and a stormy one, overtook
the hapless travelers.</p>

<p>The thunder crashed, the lightning flamed,
sheets of rain came down, but there was no escape.</p>

<p>A halt was called at an open space in a grove
of tall cedar trees, a fire made and the horses
hitched under the trees.</p>

<p>The two children slept snugly under a fir
bark shed made of slabs of bark leaned up
against a large log. Father and mother sat by
the fire under a cedar whose branches gave a
partial shelter. Some time in the night I was
awakened by my mother lying down beside me,
then slept calmly on.</p>

<p>The next morning everything was dripping
wet and we hastened on to the Duwampsh cross<span class="pagenum"><a id="page131" name="page131">[Pg 131]</a></span>ing
where lived the old man who stood on the
bank at Seattle when we started.</p>

<p>What a comfort it was to the cold, wet, hungry,
weary quartette to be invited into a dry
warm place! and then the dinner, just prepared
for company he had been expecting; a bountiful
supply of garden vegetables, beets, cabbage, potatoes,
a great dish of beans and hot coffee. These
seemed veritable luxuries and we partook of
them with a hearty relish.</p>

<p>A messenger was sent to Seattle to apprise
our friends of our return, two of them came to
meet us at the mouth of the Duwampsh River and
brought us down the bay in a canoe to the landing
near the old laurel (Madrona) tree that
leaned over the bank in front of our home.</p>

<p>The first Fourth of July celebration in which
I participated took place in the old M. E. Church
on Second Street, Seattle, in 1861.</p>

<p>Early in the morning of that eventful day
there was hurrying to and fro in the Dennys&#8217;
cottage, on Seneca Street, embowered in flowers
which even luxuriant as they were we did not
deem sufficient. The nimble eldest of the children
was sent to a flower-loving neighbor&#8217;s for blossoms
of patriotic hues, for each of the small
Americans was to carry a banner inscribed with
a strong motto and wreathed with red, white and
blue flowers. Large letters, cut from the titles
of newspapers spelled out the legends on squares
of white cotton, &#8220;Freedom for All,&#8221; &#8220;Slavery<span class="pagenum">[Pg 132]</span>
for none,&#8221; &#8220;United we stand, divided we fall,&#8221;
each surrounded with a heavy wreath of beautiful
flowers.</p>

<p>Arrived at the church, we found ourselves
a little late, the orator was just rounding the first
of his eloquent periods; the audience, principally
men, turned to view the disturbers as they
sturdily marched up the aisle to a front seat, and
seeing the patriotic family with their expressive
emblems, broke out in a hearty round of applause.
Although very young we felt the spirit
of the occasion.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I was then nine years of age and had been
trained to recite &#8220;Barbara Frietchie,&#8221; it &#8220;goes
without the saying&#8221; 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.</p>

<p>Still better were they pleased and much affected
by the singing of &#8220;Who Will Care for
Mother Now,&#8221; by Annie May Adams, a lovely
young girl of fifteen, with a pure, sympathetic,
soprano voice and a touching simplicity of style.</p>

<p>How warm beat the hearts of the people on<span class="pagenum">[Pg 133]</span>
this far off shore, 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.</p>

<p>The singing of &#8220;Red, White and Blue&#8221; by
the children created great enthusiasm; war tableaux
such as &#8220;The Soldier&#8217;s Farewell,&#8221; &#8220;Who
Goes There?&#8221; &#8220;In Camp,&#8221; 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.</p>

<p>Our teachers were Unionists without exception
and we were taught many such things;
&#8220;Rally Round the Flag&#8221; was a favorite and up
went every right hand and stamped hard every
little foot as we sang &#8220;Down With the Traitor
and Up With the Stars&#8221; with perhaps more energy
than music.</p>

<p>The children of my family, with those of A.
A. Denny&#8217;s, sometimes held &#8220;Union Meetings;&#8221;
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 pronounce 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<span class="pagenum">[Pg 134]</span>
John Denny with my father, to which I listened
intently.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>For a time there were two war vessels in
the harbor, the &#8220;Saranac&#8221; and &#8220;Suwanee,&#8221; afterwards
wrecked in Seymour Narrows. The
Suwanee was overturned and sunk by the shifting
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 &#8220;Just Before the Battle,
Mother&#8221; to &#8220;Star Spangled Banner.&#8221;</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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, &#8220;Mother, which chicken shall I catch?&#8221;
to the great amusement of all.</p>

<p>One of the reverend gentlemen declared that<span class="pagenum">[Pg 135]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 &#8220;pish-pish,&#8221; as she called it,
with which she seemed much pleased, carrying it
away wrapped in her shawl.</p>

<p>Her camp was a mile away on the shore 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
&#8220;mesachie pish-pish&#8221; (bad cat), as she now considered
it. My mother healed her wounds by
giving her some &#8220;supalel&#8221; (bread) esteemed a
luxury by the Indians, they seldom having it
unless they bought a little flour and made ash-cake.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>The first Christmas tree was set up in our
own house. It was not then a common American
custom; we usually called out &#8220;Christmas Gift,&#8221;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 136]</span>
affecting to claim a present after the Southern
&#8220;Christmas Gif&#8221; 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&#8217; worth was hung upon
and heaped around it.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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
grass and bordered with flowering shrubs, the
fringe on the hem of the mighty evergreen forest
covering the remainder.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>Woodpeckers, yellow hammers and sap-suckers,
beat their brave tattoo on the dead tree<span class="pagenum">[Pg 137]</span>
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 passed by.</p>

<p>Rare birds peculiar to the western coast, the
rufous-backed hummingbird, like a living coal
of fire, and the bush-titmouse which builds a curious
hanging nest, also visited this natural park.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Returning from church one day, when about
half way home, a huge fir tree fell just behind
us, and a half mile farther on we turned down a
branch road at the very moment that a tree fell
across the main road usually traveled.</p>

<p>The game was not then all destroyed; water
fowl were numerous on the lakes and bays and
the boys of the family often went shooting.</p>

<p>Rather late in the afternoon of a November
day, the two smaller boys, taking a shot gun with
them, repaired to Lake Union, borrowed a little
fishing canoe of old Tsetseguis, the Indian who
lived at the landing, and went to look at some
muskrat traps they had set.</p>

<p>It was growing quite dark when they thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="page138" name="page138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
of returning. For some reason they decided to
change places in the canoe, a very &#8220;ticklish&#8221;
thing to do. When one attempted to pass the
other, over went the little cockle-shell and both
were struggling in the water. The elder managed
to thrust one arm through the strap of the
hunting bag worn by the younger and grasped
him by the hair, said hair being a luxuriant mass
of long, golden brown curls. Able to swim a little
he kept them afloat although he could not keep
the younger one&#8217;s head above water. His cries
for help reached the ears of a young man, Charles
Nollop, who was preparing to cook a beefsteak
for his supper&mdash;he threw the frying pan one way
while the steak went the other, and rushed, coatless
and hatless, to the rescue with another man,
Joe Raber, in a boat.</p>

<p>An older brother of the two lads, John B.
Denny, was just emerging from the north door
of the big barn with two pails of milk; hearing,
as he thought, the words &#8220;I&#8217;m drowning,&#8221; rather
faintly from the lake, he dropped the pails unceremoniously
and ran down to the shore swiftly,
found only an old shovel-nosed canoe and no paddle,
seized a picket and paddled across the little
bay to where the water appeared agitated; there
he found the boys struggling in the water, or
rather one of them, the other was already unconscious.
Arriving at the same time in their boat
Charley Nollop and Joe Raber helped to pull
them out of the water. The long golden curls of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 139]</span>
the younger were entangled in the crossed cords
of the shot pouch and powder flask worn by the
older one, who was about to sink for the last time,
as he was exhausted and had let go of the younger,
who was submerged.</p>

<p>Their mother reached the shore as the unconscious
one was stretched upon the ground and
raised his arms and felt for the heart which was
beating feebly.</p>

<p>The swimmer walked up the hill to the
house; the younger, still unconscious, was carried,
face downward, into a room where a large
fire was burning in an open fireplace, and laid
down before it on a rug. Restoratives were
quickly applied and upon partial recovery he
was warmly tucked in bed. A few feverish days
followed, yet both escaped without serious injury.</p>

<p>Mrs. Tsetseguis was much grieved and repeated
over and over, &#8220;I told the Oleman not to
lend that little canoe to the boys, and he said,
&#8216;O it&#8217;s all right, they know how to manage a
canoe.&#8217;&#8221;</p>

<p>Tsetseguis was also much distressed and
showed genuine sympathy, following the rescued
into the house to see if they were really
safe.</p>

<p>The games we played in early days were
often the time-honored ones taught us by our
parents, and again were inventions of our own.
During the Rebellion we drilled as soldiers or<span class="pagenum">[Pg 140]</span>
played &#8220;black man;&#8221; by the latter we wrought
excitement to the highest pitch, whether we
chased the black man, or returning the favor, he
chased us.</p>

<p>The teeter-board was available when the
neighbor&#8217;s children came; the wonder is that no
bones were broken by our method.</p>

<p>The longest, strongest, Douglas fir board
that could be found, was placed across a large
log, a huge stone rested in the middle and the
children, boys and girls, little and big, crowded
on the board almost filling it; then we carefully
&#8220;waggled&#8221; it up and down, watching the stone in
breathless and ecstatic silence until weary of it.</p>

<p>Our bravado consisted in climbing up the
steepest banks on the bay, or walking long logs
across ravines or on steep inclines.</p>

<p>The surroundings were so peculiar that old
games took on new charms when played on Puget
Sound. Hide-and-seek in a dense jungle of
young Douglas firs was most delightful; the
great fir and cedar trees, logs and stumps, afforded
ample cover for any number of players,
from the sharp eyes of the one who had been
counted &#8220;out&#8221; with one of the old rhymes.</p>

<p>The shadow of danger always lurked about
the undetermined boundary of our play-grounds,
wild animals and wild men might be not far beyond.</p>

<p>We feared the drunken white man more
than the sober Indian, with much greater rea<span class="pagenum">[Pg 141]</span>son.
Even the drunken Indian never molested
us, but usually ran &#8220;amuck&#8221; among the inhabitants
of the beach.</p>

<p>Neither superstitious nor timid we seldom
experienced a panic.</p>

<p>The nearest Indian graveyard was on a hill
at the foot of Spring Street, Seattle. It sloped
directly down to the beach; the bodies were
placed in shallow graves to the very brow and
down over the face of the sandy bluff. All this
hill was dug down when the town advanced.</p>

<p>The childrens&#8217; graves were especially pathetic,
with their rude shelters, to keep off the
rain of the long winter months, and upright
poles bearing bits of bright colored cloth, tin
pails and baskets.</p>

<p>Over these poor graves no costly monuments
stood, only the winds sang wild songs there, the
sea-gulls flitted over, the fair, wild flowers
bloomed and the dark-eyed Indian mothers tarried
sometimes, human as others in their sorrow.</p>

<p>But the light-hearted Indian girls wandered
past, hand in hand, singing as they went, pausing
to turn bright friendly eyes upon me as they
answered the white child&#8217;s question, &#8220;Ka mika
klatawa?&#8221; (Where are you going?)</p>

<p>&#8220;O, kopa yawa&#8221; (O, over yonder), nodding
toward the winding road that stretched along the
green bank before them. Without a care or sorrow,
living a healthy, free, untrammeled life,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 142]</span>
they looked the impersonation of native contentment.</p>

<p>The social instinct of the pioneers found expression
in various ways.</p>

<p>A merry party of pioneer young people, invited
to spend the evening at a neighbor&#8217;s, were
promised the luxury of a candy-pull. The first
batch was put on to boil and the assembled
youngsters engaged in old fashioned games to
while away the time. Unfortunately for their
hopes the molasses burned and they were obliged
to throw it away. There was a reserve in the
jug, however, and the precious remainder was
set over the fire and the games went on again.
Determined to succeed, the hostess stirred, while
an equally anxious and careful guest held the
light, a small fish-oil lamp. The lamp had a leak
and was set on a tin plate; in her eagerness to
light the bubbling saccharine substance and to
watch the stirring-down, she leaned over a little
too far and over went the lamp directly into the
molasses.</p>

<p>What consternation fell upon them! The
very thought of the fish-oil was nauseating, and
that was all the molasses. There was no candy-pulling,
there being no grocery just around the
corner where a fresh supply might be obtained,
indeed molasses and syrup were very scarce articles,
brought from a great distance.</p>

<p>The guests departed, doubtless realizing<span class="pagenum">[Pg 143]</span>
that the &#8220;best laid plans ... gang aft
agley.&#8221;</p>

<p>The climate of Puget Sound is one so mild
that snow seldom falls and ice rarely forms as
thick as windowglass, consequently travel, traffic
and amusement are scarcely modified during
the winter, or more correctly, the rainy season.
Unless it rained more energetically than usual,
the children went on with their games as in summer.</p>

<p>The long northern twilight of the summertime
and equally long evenings in winter had
each their special charm.</p>

<p>The pictures of winter scenes in eastern
magazines and books looked strange and unfamiliar
to us, but as one saucy girl said to a tenderfoot
from a blizzard-swept state, &#8220;We see
more and deeper snow everyday than you ever
saw in your life.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;How is that?&#8221; said he.</p>

<p>&#8220;On Mount Rainier,&#8221; she answered, laughing.</p>

<p>Even so, this magnificent mountain, together
with many lesser peaks, wears perpetual robes
of snow in sight of green and blooming shores.</p>

<p>When it came to decorating for Christmas,
well, we had a decided advantage as the evergreens
stood thick about us, millions of them.
Busy fingers made lavish use of rich garlands
of cedar to festoon whole buildings; handsome
Douglas firs, reaching from floor to ceiling, load<span class="pagenum">[Pg 144]</span>ed
with gay presents and blazing with tapers,
made the little &#8220;clam-diggers&#8217;&#8221; eyes glisten and
their mouths water. In the garden the flowers
bloomed often in December and January, as
many as twenty-six varieties at once.</p>

<p>One New Year&#8217;s day I walked down the garden
path and plucked a fine, red rosebud to decorate
the New Year&#8217;s cake.</p>

<p>The pussy-willows began the floral procession
of wildlings in January and the trilliums
and currants were not far behind unless a &#8220;cold
snap&#8221; came on in February and the flowers <i>dozed
on</i>, for they never seem to <i>sleep</i> very profoundly
here. By the middle of February there was,
occasionally, a general display of bloom, but
more frequently it began about the first of
March, the seasons varying considerably.</p>

<p>The following poem tells of favorite flowers
gathered in the olden time &#8220;i&#8217; the spring o&#8217;
the year!&#8221;</p>

<p>In the summertime we had work as well as
play, out of doors. The garden surrounding our
cottage in 1863, overflowed with fruits, vegetables
and flowers. Nimble young fingers were
made useful in helping to tend them. Weeding
beds of spring onions and lettuce, sticking peas
and beans, or hoeing potatoes, were considered
excellent exercise for young muscles; no need
of physical &#8220;culchuah&#8221; in the school had dawned
upon us, as periods of work and rest, study and
play, followed each other in healthful succession.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 145]</span>Having a surplus of good things, the children
often went about the village with fresh
vegetables and flowers, more often the latter,
generous bouquets of fragrant and spicy roses
and carnations, sweet peas and nasturtiums, to
sell. Two little daughters in pretty, light print
dresses and white hats were flower girls who
were treated like little queens.</p>

<p>There was no disdain of work to earn a living
in those days; every respectable person did
something useful.</p>

<p>For recreation, we went with father in the
wagon over the &#8220;bumpy&#8221; road when he went to
haul wood, or perhaps a long way on the county
road to the meadow, begging to get off to gather
flowers whenever we saw them peeping from
their green bowers.</p>

<p>Driving along through the great forest
which stood an almost solid green wall on either
hand, we called &#8220;O father, stop! stop; here is
the lady-slipper place.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, be quick, I can&#8217;t wait long.&#8221;</p>

<p>Dropping down to the ground, we ran as fast
as our feet could carry us to gather the lovely,
fragrant orchid, Calypso Borealis, from its mossy
bed.</p>

<p>When the ferns were fully grown, eight or
ten feet high, the little girls broke down as many
as they could drag, and ran along the road, great
ladies, with long green trains!</p>

<p><a id="VII" name="VII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 293px;">
<img src="images/opp145.png" width="293" height="500" alt="" title="A VISIT FROM OUR TILLICUM" />
<span class="caption">A VISIT FROM OUR TILLICUM</span>
</div>

<p>We found the way to the opening in the
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 146]</span>woods, where in the midst thereof, grandfather
sat making cedar shingles with a drawing knife.
Huge trees lay on the ground, piles of bolts had
been cut and the heap of shingles, clear and
straight of the very best quality, grew apace.</p>

<p>Very tall and grand the firs and cedars stood
all around, like stately pillars with a dome of
blue sky above; the birds sang in the underbrush
and the brown butterflies floated by.</p>

<p>Among all the beautiful things, there was
one to rivet the eye and attention; a dark green
fir tree, perhaps thirty feet high, around whose
trunk and branches a wild honeysuckle vine had
twined itself from the ground to the topmost
twig.</p>

<p>It had the appearance of a giant candelabrum,
with the orange-scarlet blossoms that tipped
the boughs like jets of flame.</p>

<p>Many a merry picnic we had in blackberry
time, taking our lunch with us and spending the
day; sometimes in an Indian canoe we paddled
off several miles, to Smith&#8217;s Cove or some other
likely place.</p>

<p>It was necessary to watch the tide at the
Cove or the shore could not be reached across the
mudflat.</p>

<p>Once ashore how happy we were; clambering
about over the hills, gathering the ripe fruit,
now and then turning about to gaze at the snowy
sentinel in the southern sky, grand old Mount
Rainier.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 147]</span>How wide the sparkling waters of the bay!
the sky so pure and clear, the north wind so cool
and refreshing. The plumy boughs stirred gently
overhead and shed for us the balsamic odors,
the flowers waved a welcome at our feet.</p>

<p>In the winter there was seldom any &#8220;frost
on the rills&#8221; or &#8220;snow on the hills,&#8221; but when it
did come the children made haste to get all the
possible fun out of the unusual pastime of coasting.
Mothers were glad when the Chinook wind
came and ate up the snow and brought back the
ordinary conditions, as the children were frequently
sick during a cold spell.</p>

<p>Now the tenderfoot, as the newcomer is called
in the west, is apt to be mistaken about the
Chinook wind; there is a wet south wind and a
dry south wind on Puget Sound. The Chinook,
as the &#8220;natives&#8221; have known it, is a dry wind,
clears the sky, and melts and dries up the snow
at once. Wet south wind, carrying heavy rain
often follows after snow, and slush reigns for a
few days. Perhaps this is a distinction without
much difference.</p>

<p>Storms rarely occur, I remember but two
violent ones in which the gentle south wind
seemed to forget its nature and became a raging
gale.</p>

<p>The first occurred when I was a small child.
The wind had been blowing for some time, gradually
increasing in the evening, and as night
advanced becoming heavier every hour. Large<span class="pagenum">[Pg 148]</span>
stones were taken up from the high bank on the
bay and piled on the roof with limbs broken from
tough fir trees. Thousands of giant trees fell
crashing and groaning to the ground, like a continuous
cannonade; the noise was terrific and we
feared for our lives.</p>

<p>At midnight, not daring to leave the house,
and yet fearing that it might be overthrown,
we knelt and commended ourselves to Him who
rules the storm.</p>

<p>About one o&#8217;clock the storm abated and
calmly and safely we lay down to sleep.</p>

<p>The morning broke still and clear, but many
a proud monarch of the forest lay prone upon the
ground.</p>

<p>Electric storms were very infrequent; if
there came a few claps of thunder the children
exclaimed, &#8220;O mother, hear the thunder storm!&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, children, that isn&#8217;t much of a thunder
storm; you just ought to hear the thunder
in Illinois, and the lighting was a continual
blaze.&#8221;</p>

<p>Our mother complained that we were scarcely
enough afraid of snakes; as there are no deadly
reptiles on Puget Sound, we thrust our hands
into the densest foliage or searched the thick
grass without dread of a lurking enemy.</p>

<p>The common garter snake, a short, thick
snake, whose track across the dusty roads I have
seen, a long lead-colored snake and a small brown
one, comprise the list known to us.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 149]</span>Walking along a narrow trail one summer
day, singing as I went, the song was abruptly
broken, I sprang to one side with remarkable
agility, a long, wiggling thing &#8220;swished&#8221; through
the grass in an opposite direction. Calling for
help, I armed myself with a club, and with my
support, boldly advanced to seek out the serpent.
When discovered we belabored it so earnestly
that its head was well-nigh severed from
its body.</p>

<p>It was about five feet long, the largest I had
even seen, whether poisonous or not is beyond
my knowledge.</p>

<p>There are but two spiders known to be dangerous,
a white one and a small black &#8220;crab&#8221;
spider. A little girl acquaintance was bitten by
one of these, it was supposed, though not positively
known; the bite was on the upper arm and
produced such serious effects that a large piece
of flesh had to be removed by the surgeon&#8217;s knife
and amputation was narrowly escaped.</p>

<p>A mysterious creature inhabiting Lake
Union sometimes poisoned the young bathers.
One of my younger brothers was bitten on the
knee, and a lameness ensued, which continued
for several months. There was only a small
puncture visible with a moderate swelling, which
finally passed away.</p>

<p>The general immunity from danger extends
to the vegetable world, but very few plants are<span class="pagenum">[Pg 150]</span>
unsafe to handle, chief among them being the
Panax horridum or &#8220;devil&#8217;s club.&#8221;</p>

<p>So the happy pioneer children roamed the
forest fearlessly and sat on the vines and moss
under the great trees, often making bonnets of
the shining salal leaves pinned together with
rose thorns or tiny twigs, making whistles of
alder, which gave forth sweet and pleasant
sounds if successfully made; or in the garden
making dolls of hollyhocks, mallows and morning
glories.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page151" name="page151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VIII.<br />

<span class="smaller">MARCHING EXPERIENCES OF ESTHER CHAMBERS.</span></h2>

<p>The following thrilling account, written by
herself and first published in the &#8220;Weekly
Ledger&#8221; of Tacoma, Washington, of June 3,
1892, is to be highly commended for its clear
and forcible style:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;My father, William Packwood, left Missouri
in the spring of 1844 with my mother and
four children in an ox team to cross the plains to
Oregon.</p>

<p>&#8220;My mother&#8217;s health was very poor when we
started. She had to be helped in and out of the
wagon, but the change by traveling improved her
health so much that she gained a little every day,
and in the course of a month or six weeks she was
able to get up in the morning and cook breakfast,
while my father attended his team and did
other chores. I had one sister older than myself,
and I was only six years old. My little sister
and baby brother, who learned to walk by
rolling the water keg as we camped nights and
mornings, were of no help to my sick mother.</p>

<p>&#8220;The company in which we started was Captain
Gilliam&#8217;s and we traveled quite a way when
we joined Captain Ford&#8217;s company, making upward
of sixty wagons in all.</p>

<p>&#8220;Our company was so large that the Indians<span class="pagenum">[Pg 152]</span>
did not molest us, although we, after letting our
stock feed until late in the evening, had formed
a large corral of the wagons, in which we drove
the cattle and horses, and stood guard at night,
as the Indians had troubled small companies by
driving off their stock, but they were not at all
hostile to us.</p>

<p>&#8220;We came to a river and camped. The next
morning we were visited by Indians, who seemed
to want to see us children, so we were terribly
afraid of the Indians, and, as father drove in the
river to cross, the oxen got frightened at the Indians
and tipped the wagon over, and father
jumped and held the wagon until help came. We
thought the Indians would catch us, so we
jumped to the lower part of the box, where there
was about six inches of water. The swim and
fright I will never forget&mdash;the Indian fright,
of course.</p>

<p>&#8220;I was quite small but I do remember the
beautiful scenery. We could see antelope, deer,
rabbits, sage hens and coyotes, etc., and in the
camp we children had a general good time. All
joined at night in the plays. One night Mr. Jenkins&#8217;
boys told me to ask their father for his
sheath knife to cut some sticks with. When using
it on the first stick, I cut my lefthand forefinger
nail and all off, except a small portion
of the top of my finger, and the scar is still
visible.</p>

<p>&#8220;On another evening we children were hav<span class="pagenum">[Pg 153]</span>ing
a nice time, when a boy by the name of Stephen,
who had been in the habit of hugging around
the children&#8217;s shoulders and biting them, hugged
me and bit a piece almost out of my shoulder.
This was the first time I remember seeing my
father&#8217;s wrath rise on the plains, as he was a
very even-tempered man. He said to the offending
boy, &#8216;If you do that again, I shall surely
whip you.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;A few days later we came to a stream that
was deep but narrow. Mr. Stephens, this boy&#8217;s
father, was leading a cow by a rope tied around
his waist and around the cow&#8217;s head for the purpose
of teaching the rest of the cattle to swim.
The current being very swift, washed the cow
down the stream, dragging the man. The women
and children were all crying at a great rate,
when one of the party went to Mrs. Stephens,
saying, &#8216;Mr. Stephens is drowning.&#8217; &#8216;Well,&#8217;
she replied, &#8216;there is plenty of more men where
he came from.&#8217; Mr. Stephens, his cow and all
lodged safely on a drift. They got him out safely,
but he did not try to swim a stream with a
cow tied to his waist again.</p>

<p>&#8220;We could see the plains covered with buffalo
as we traveled along, just like the cattle of our
plains are here.</p>

<p>&#8220;One day a band of buffalo came running toward
us, and one jumped between the wheel cattle
and the wheels of the wagon, and we came
very near having a general stampede of the cat<span class="pagenum">[Pg 154]</span>tle;
so when the teamsters got their teams quieted
down, the men, gathering their guns, ran and
killed three of the buffalo, and all of the company
were furnished with dried beef, which was
fine for camping.</p>

<p>&#8220;We came to a place where there was a boiling
spring that would cook eggs, and a short distance
from this was a cold, clear spring, and a
short distance from this was a heap of what
looked like ashes, and when we crossed it the
cattles&#8217; feet burned until they bawled. Another
great sight I remember of seeing was an oil
spring.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then we reached the Blue Mountains. Snow
fell as we traveled through them.</p>

<p>&#8220;We then came down in the Grande Ronde
valley, and it seemed as if we had reached a
paradise. It was a beautiful valley. Here Indians
came to trade us dried salmon, la camas
cakes and dried crickette cakes. We traded for
some salmon and the la camas cakes, but the
crickette cakes we did not hanker after.</p>

<p>&#8220;A man in one train thought he would fool an
Indian chief, so he told the Indian he would
swap his girl sixteen years old, for a couple of
horses. The bargain was made and he took the
horses, and the Indian hung around until near
night. When the captain of the company found
out that the Indian was waiting for his girl to go
with him, the captain told the man that we might
all be killed through him, and made him give up<span class="pagenum">[Pg 155]</span>
the horses to the chief. The Indian chief was
real mad as he took the horses away.</p>

<p>&#8220;We went on down to The Dalles, where we
stopped a few days. There was a mission at The
Dalles where two missionaries lived, Brewer and
Waller. We emigrants traded some of our poor,
tired cattle off to them for some of their fat
beef, and some coarse flour chopped on a hand
mill, like what we call chop-feed nowadays.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then we had to make a portage around the
falls, and the women and children walked. I
don&#8217;t remember the distance, but we walked until
late at night, and waded in the mud knee-deep,
and my mother stumped her toe and fell
against a log or she might have gone down into
the river. We little tots fell down in the mud
until you&#8217;d have thought we were pigs.</p>

<p>&#8220;The men drove around the falls another
way, and got out of provisions.</p>

<p>&#8220;My father, seeing a boat from the high
bluffs, going down to the river hailed it, and
when he came down to the boat he found us. He
said he had gotten so hungry that he killed a
crow and ate it, and thought it tasted splendid.
He took provisions to the cattle drivers and we
came on down the river to Fort Vancouver. It
rained on us for a week and our bedclothes were
drenched through and through, so at night we
would open our bed of wet clothes and cuddle in
them as though we were in a palace car, and all
kept well and were not sick a day in all of our<span class="pagenum">[Pg 156]</span>
six months&#8217; journey crossing the plains. My
mother gained and grew fleshy and strong.</p>

<p>&#8220;Next we arrived in what is now the city
of Portland, which then consisted of a log cabin
and a few shanties. We stayed there a few days
to dry our bedding.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then we moved out to the Tualatin Plains,
where we wintered in a barn, with three other
families, each family having a corner of the barn,
with fire in the center and a hole in the roof for
the smoke to go out. My father went to work
for a man by the name of Baxton, as all my
father was worth in money, I think, was twenty-five
cents, or something like that. He arrived
with a cow, calf and three oxen, and had
to support his family by mauling rails in the
rain, to earn the wheat, peas and potatoes we ate,
as that was all we could get, as bread was out
of the question. Shortly after father had gone
to work my little brother had a rising on his
cheek. It made him so sick that mother wanted
us little tots to go to the place where my father
was working. It being dark, we got out of our
way and went to a man, who had an Indian woman,
by the name of Williams. In the plains there
are swales that fill up with water when the heavy
rains come, and they are knee deep. I fell in
one of these, but we got to Mr. Williams all
right. But when we found our neighbor we began
crying, so Mr. Williams persuaded us to
come in and he would go and get father, which<span class="pagenum">[Pg 157]</span>
he did, and father came home with us to our
barn house. My little brother got better, and my
father returned to his work again.</p>

<p>&#8220;Among the settlers on the Tualatin Plains
were Mr. Lackriss, Mr. Burton, Mr. Williams
and General McCarver, who had settled on farms
before we came, and many a time did we go to
their farms for greens and turnips, which were
something new and a great treat to us.</p>

<p>&#8220;Often the Indians used to frighten us
with their war dances, as we called them, as we
did not know the nature of Indians, so, as General
McCarver was used to them, we often asked
him if the Indians were having a war dance for
the purpose of hostility. He told us, that was
the way they doctored their sick.</p>

<p>&#8220;General McCarver settled in Tacoma when
the townsite was first laid out and is well known.
He died in Tacoma, leaving a family.</p>

<p>&#8220;After we moved out to the Tualatin Plains,
many a night when father was away we lay
awake listening to the dogs barking, thinking the
Indians were coming to kill us, and when father
came home I felt safe and slept happily.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the spring of 1845 my father took a nice
place in West Yamhill, about two miles from
the Willamette River and we had some settlers
around, but our advantage for a school was
poor, as we were too far from settlers to have
a school, so my education, what little I have, was
gotten by punching the cedar fire and studying<span class="pagenum">[Pg 158]</span>
at night, but, however, we were a happy family,
hoping to accumulate a competency in our new
home.</p>

<p>&#8220;One dog, myself and elder sister and brother
were carrying water from our spring, which was
a hundred yards or more from our house, when
a number of Indians came along. We were
afraid of them and all hid. I hid by the trail,
when an old Indian, seeing me, yelled out,
&#8216;Adeda!&#8217; and I began to laugh, but my sister
was terribly frightened and yelled at me to hide,
so they found all of us, but they were friendly
to us, only a wretched lot to steal, as they stole
the only cow we had brought through, leaving
the calf with us without milk.</p>

<p>&#8220;My father was quite a hunter, and deer were
plenty, and once in a while he would get one, so
we did get along without milk. During the first
year we could not get bread, as there were no
mills or places to buy flour. A Canadian put up
a small chop mill and chopped wheat something
like feed is chopped now.</p>

<p>&#8220;My father being a jack-of-all-trades, set to
work and put up a turning lathe and went to
making chairs, and my mother and her little tots
took the straw from the sheaves and braided and
made hats. We sold the chairs and hats and
helped ourselves along in every way we could
and did pretty well.</p>

<p>&#8220;One day, while my father&#8217;s lathe was running,
some one yelled &#8216;Stop!&#8217; A large black<span class="pagenum">[Pg 159]</span>
bear was walking through the yard. The men
gave him a grand chase, but bruin got away from
them.</p>

<p>&#8220;My father remained on this place until the
spring of 1847, when he and a number of other
families decided to move to Puget Sound. During
that winter they dug two large canoes, lashed
them together as a raft or flatboat to move on,
and sold out their places, bought enough provisions
to last that summer, and loading up with
their wagons, families and provisions, started
for Puget Sound.</p>

<p>&#8220;Coming up the Cowlitz River was a hard
trip, as the men had to tow the raft over rapids
and wade. The weather was very bad. Arriving
at what was called the Cowlitz Landing we
stayed a few days and moved out to the Catholic
priest&#8217;s place (Mr. Langlay&#8217;s) where the
women and children remained while the men
went back to Oregon for our stock. They had
to drive up the Cowlitz River by a trail, and swim
the rivers. My father said it was a hard trip.</p>

<p>&#8220;On arriving at Puget Sound we found a
good many settlers. Among them, now living
that I know of, was Jesse Ferguson, on
Bush Prairie. We stayed near Mr. Ferguson&#8217;s
place until my father, McAllister and Shager,
who lives in Olympia, took them to places in the
Nisqually bottoms. My father&#8217;s place then, is
now owned by Isaac Hawk.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. McAllister was killed in the Indian war<span class="pagenum">[Pg 160]</span>
of 1855-6, leaving a family of a number of children,
of whom one is Mrs. Grace Hawk. The
three families living in the bottom were often
frightened by the saucy Indians telling us to
leave, as the King George men told them to make
us go, so on one occasion there came about 300
Indians in canoes. They were painted and had
knives, and said they wanted to kill a chief that
lived by us by the name of Quinasapam. When
he saw the warriors coming he came into our
house for protection, and all of the Indians who
could do so came in after him. Mr. Shager and
father gave them tobacco to smoke. So they
smoked and let the chief go and took their departure.
If there were ever glad faces on this
earth and free hearts, ours were at that time.</p>

<p>&#8220;My father and Mr. McAllister took a job
of bursting up old steamboat boilers for Dr. Tolmie
for groceries and clothing, and between their
improving their farms they worked at this.
While they were away the Indians&#8217; dogs were
plenty, and, like wolves, they ran after everything,
including our only milch cow, and she
died, so there was another great loss to us, but
after father got through with the old boilers, he
took another job of making butter firkins for Dr.
Tolmie and shingles also. This was a great help
to the new settlers. The Hudson Bay Company
was very kind to settlers.</p>

<p>&#8220;In 1849 the gold fever began to rage and
my father took the fever. I was standing before<span class="pagenum">[Pg 161]</span>
the fire, listening to my mother tell about it,
when my dress caught fire, and my mother and
Mrs. Shager got the fire extinguished, when I
found my hair was off on one side of my head
and my dress missing. I felt in luck to save my
life.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the spring of 1850 all arrangements were
made for the California gold mines and we
started by land in an ox team. We went back
through Oregon and met our company in Yamhill,
where we had lived. They joined our company
of about thirty wagons. Portions of our
journey were real pleasant, but the rest was terribly
rough. In one canyon we crossed a stream
seventy-five times in one day, and it was the most
unpleasant part of our journey.</p>

<p>&#8220;After two months&#8217; travel we arrived in Sacramento
City, Cal., and found it tolerably warm
for us, not being used to a warm climate.</p>

<p>&#8220;Father stayed in California nearly two
years. Our fortune was not a large one. We
returned by sea to Washington and made our
home in the Nisqually Bottom.</p>

<p>&#8220;On April 30, 1854, I was married to a man
named G. W. T. Allen and lived with him on
Whidby Island seven years, during which time
four children were born. We finally agreed to
disagree. Only one of our children by my first
husband is living. She is Mrs. L. L. Andrews of
Tacoma, Washington. He is in the banking business.
On July 7, 1863, I was married to my<span class="pagenum">[Pg 162]</span>
present husband, McLain Chambers. We have
lived in Washington ever since. We have had
nine children. Our oldest, a son, I. M. Chambers,
lives on a farm near Roy, Wash. Others
are married and live at Roy, Yelm and Stampede.
We have two little boys at home. Have
lost three within the last three years. We live a
mile and a half southeast of Roy, Wash.</p>

<p>&#8220;I have lived here through all the hostilities
of the war. Dr. Tolmie sent wagons to haul us
to the fort for safety. My present husband was
a volunteer and came through with a company
of scouts, very hungry. They were so hungry
that when they saw my mother take a pan of biscuits
from the stove, one of them saying, &#8216;Excuse
me, but we are almost starved,&#8217; grabbed the
biscuits from the pan, eating like a hungry dog.</p>

<p>&#8220;I suppose you have heard of the murder of
Col. I. N. Ebey of Whidby Island? He was beheaded
by the Northern or Fort Simpson Indians
and his family and George Corliss and his
wife made their escape from the house by climbing
out of the windows, leaving even their clothes
and bushwhacking it until morning. I was on
Whidby Island about seven miles from where he
was killed, that same night, alone with my little
girl, now Mrs. Andrews. When one of our
neighbors called at the gate and said, &#8216;Colonel
Ebey was beheaded last night,&#8217; I said &#8216;Captain
Barrington, it cannot be, as I have been staying
here so close by alone without being disturbed.&#8217;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 163]</span>
Shortly after the Indians came armed, and one
of them came up to me, shaking a large knife in
his hand saying, &#8216;Iskum mika tenas and klatawa
copa stick or we will kill you.&#8217; I said to him, &#8216;I
don&#8217;t understand; come and go to the field where
my husband and an Indian boy are,&#8217; but they
refused to go and left me soon. I started for the
field with my child, and the further I went the
more scared I got until when I reached my husband,
I cried like a child. He ran to the house
and sent a message to the agent on the reservation,
but they skipped out of his reach, and never
bothered me again, but I truly suffered as though
I were sick, although I stayed alone with a boy
eight or nine years old.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">&#8220;A BOY OF SEVEN WHO CAME TO SHOW HIS FATHER
THE WAY.&#8221;</p>

<p>In the same columns with the preceding
sketch appeared R. A. Bundy&#8217;s story of his juvenile
adventures:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;I will try to give an account of my trip
crossing the plains in the pioneer days. You
need not expect a flowery story, as you will observe
before I get through. The chances for an
education in those days were quite different from
what they are today. Here goes with my story,
anyway:</p>

<p>&#8220;My father left his old home in the State of
Illinois in the month of April in the year 1865.
As I was a lad not seven years of age until the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 164]</span>
27th of the month, of course I was obliged to go
along to show the old man the way.</p>

<p>&#8220;We were all ready to start, and a large number
of others that were going in the same train
had gathered at our place. There were also
numerous relatives present to bid us good-bye,
and warn us of the big undertaking we were
about to embark in, and tell of the dangers we
would encounter. But a lad of my age always
thinks it is a great thing to go along with a covered
wagon, especially if &#8216;pap&#8217; is driving. I
crawled right in and did not apprehend anything
dangerous or wearisome about a short trip
like that. I will have to omit dates and camping
places, as I was too young to pay any attention
to such things; and you may swear that I was
always around close. Everything went along
smoothly with me for a short time. Riding in
a covered wagon was a picnic, but my father&#8217;s
team was composed of both horses and cattle,
and the oxen soon became tenderfooted and had
to be turned loose and driven behind the wagons.</p>

<p>&#8220;About this time A. L. McCauley, whose account
of the trip has appeared in the &#8216;Ledger,&#8217;
fell in with the train. He thought himself a
brave man and as he had had a &#8216;right smart&#8217;
experience in traveling, especially since the war
broke out, and was used to going in the lead and
had selected a great many safe camping places
for himself during that time, the men thought he<span class="pagenum">[Pg 165]</span>
would be a good man to hide from the Indians,
so he was elected captain. He went ahead and
showed my old man the way. I being now relieved
of this responsibility, stayed behind the
train and drove the tenderfooted oxen. When
McCauley found a camping place I always
brought up the rear.</p>

<p>&#8220;That was not quite so much of a picnic as
some of us old-timers have nowadays at Shilo. I
found out after driving oxen a few days, that I
was going &#8216;with&#8217; the old man.</p>

<p>&#8220;For a week or two my job was not as bad
as some who have never tried it might imagine.
But six months of travel behind the wagons
barefooted, over sagebrush, sand toads, hot sand
and gravel, rattlesnakes, prickly pears, etc.,
made me sometimes wish I had gone back home
when the old dog did, or that &#8216;pap&#8217; had sold
me at the sale with the other property. In spite
of my disagreeable situation, however, I kept
trudging alone, bound to stay with the crowd.
I thought my lot was a rough one when I saw
other boys older than myself riding and occasionally
walking just for pleasure. I could not
see where the fun came in, and thought that if
the opportunity was offered I could stand it to
ride all the time. I thought I had the disadvantage
until the Indians got all the stock.</p>

<p>&#8220;I remember one night that our famous captain
said he had found us a good, safe camping
place. The next morning the people were all<span class="pagenum">[Pg 166]</span>
right but the horses and cattle were all gone.
For a while it looked like the whole train would
have to walk. I did not care so much for myself
but I thought it would be hard on those that
were not used to it.</p>

<p>&#8220;During the day the men got a part of the
horses back, and I was feeling pretty good, thinking
the rest would get to ride, but along in the
afternoon my joyful mood was suddenly
changed. All the men, excepting a few on the
sick list, were out after the stock, when the captain
and some other men came running into camp
as fast as their horses could carry them. The
captain got off his horse, apparently almost
scared to death. He told the women that they
would never see their men again; that the Indians
were coming from every direction. That
was in the Wood River country, and it made me
feel pretty bad after walking so far. We were
all frightened, and some boys and myself found
a hiding place in a wagon. We got under a
feather bed and waited, expecting every minute
that the Indians would come. They did not come
so we came out and found that the captain was
feeling rather weak and had laid down to have a
rest. Shortly after we came out, one of the men
came in leading an Indian pony. It was then
learned that the captain and some of the men
with him had been running from some of the
men belonging to the train, thinking they were
Indians. They found all their horses but two<span class="pagenum">[Pg 167]</span>
and captured two Indian ponies. The next day
we journeyed on and I felt more like walking,
knowing that the others could ride. We did
not meet with any other difficulty that seriously
attracted my attention.</p>

<p>&#8220;We arrived on the Touchet at Waitsburg
in October or November, and don&#8217;t you forget it,
I had spent many a hot, tiresome day, having
walked all the way across the plains.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page168" name="page168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX<br />

<span class="smaller">AN OLYMPIA WOMAN&#8217;S TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS IN
1851.</span></h2>

<p>Mrs. C. J. Crosby of Olympia, Washington,
contributes this narrative of her personal experience,
to the literature of the Northwest:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;It was in the early spring of &#8217;51 that my
father took the emigrant fever to come West, to
what was then termed Oregon Territory, and get
some of Uncle Sam&#8217;s land which was donated to
any one who had the perseverance and courage
to travel six long weary months, through a wild,
savage country with storms and floods as well as
the terrible heat and dust of summer to contend
against. Our home was in Covington, Indiana,
and my father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and
five children, myself being the eldest, started
from there the 24th day of March for a town called
Council Bluffs on the Missouri River, where
all the emigrants bought their supplies for their
long journey in the old time prairie schooner.
Our train was composed of twenty-four wagons
and a good number of people. A captain was
selected, whose duty it was to ride ahead of the
train and find good camping place for the day or
night, where there was plenty of wood, water
and grass.</p>

<p>&#8220;The first part of our journey we encoun<span class="pagenum">[Pg 169]</span>tered
terrible floods, little streams would suddenly
become raging torrents and we were
obliged to cross them in hasilty-constructed boats;
two incidents I distinctly remember.</p>

<p>&#8220;We had traveled all day and in the evening
came to a stream called the Elk Horn, where we
had some trouble and only part of the train
crossed that night&mdash;we were among the number;
well, we got something to eat as best we
could, and being very tired all went to bed as
early as possible; the river was a half mile from
where we camped, but in the night it overflowed
and the morning found our wagons up to the
hubs in water, our cooking utensils floating off
on the water, except those that had gone to the
bottom, and all the cattle had gone off to find dry
ground, and for a while things in general looked
very discouraging. However, the men started
out at daylight in search of the stray cattle, soon
found them and hitched them to the wagons and
started for another camping place, and to wait
until we were joined by those who were left behind
the night before. We all rejoiced to leave
that river as soon as possible, but not many days
expired before we came to another river which
was worse than the first one&mdash;it was exceedingly
high and very swift, but by hard work and perseverance
they got all the wagons across the river
without any accident, with the exception of my
father&#8217;s, which was the last to cross. They got
about half way over when the provision wagon<span class="pagenum">[Pg 170]</span>
slid off the boat and down the river it went.
Well, I can hardly imagine how any one could
understand our feelings unless they had experienced
such a calamity; to see all the provisions
we had in the world floating away before our
eyes and not any habitation within many hundred
miles of us; for a while we did indeed feel
as though the end had come this time sure. We
could not retrace our footsteps, or go forward
without provisions; each one in the train had
only enough for their own consumption and dare
not divide with their best friend; however, while
they were debating what was best to do, our
wagon had landed on a sandbar and the men
waded out and pulled it ashore. It is needless
for me to say there was great rejoicing in
the camp that day; of course, nearly everything
in the wagon was wet, but while in camp they
were dried out. Fortunately the flour was sealed
up in tin cans; the corn meal became sour before
it got dry, but it had to be used just the same.
In a few days we were in our usual spirits, but
wondering what new trials awaited us, and it
came all too soon; the poor cattle all got poisoned
from drinking alkali water; at first they
did not know what to do for them, but finally
someone suggested giving them fat bacon, which
brought them out all right in a day or two. Then
their feet became very sore from constant traveling
and thorns from the cactus points, and we<span class="pagenum"><a id="page171" name="page171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
would be obliged to remain in camp several days
for them to recruit.</p>

<p>&#8220;As we proceeded farther on our way we began
to fear the Indians, and occasionally met
strolling bands of them all decked out with bows
and arrows, their faces hideous with paint and
long feathers sticking in their top-knots, they
looked very fierce and savage; they made us understand
we could not travel through their country
unless we paid them. So the men gave them
some tobacco, beads and other trinkets, but would
not give them any ammunition; they went away
angry and acted as though they would give us
trouble.</p>

<p>&#8220;Some of the men stood guard every night
to protect the camp as well as the horses and
cattle, as they would drive them off in the night
and frequently kill them.</p>

<p>&#8220;Thus we traveled from day to day, ever
anxious and on the lookout for a surprise from
some ambush by the wayside, they were so
treacherous, but kind Providence protected us
and we escaped the fate of the unfortunate emigrants
who preceded us.</p>

<p>&#8220;Fortunately there was but little sickness in
our train and only one death, that of my little
brother; he was ill about two weeks and we never
knew the cause of his death. At first it seemed
an impossibility to go away and leave him alone
by the wayside, and what could we do without a
coffin and not any boards to make one? A trunk<span class="pagenum">[Pg 172]</span>
was thought of and the little darling was laid
away in that. The grave had to be very deep
so the wild animals could not dig up the body,
and the Indians would plunder the graves, too,
so it was made level with the ground. We felt
it a terrible affliction; it seemed indeed the climax
of all we had endured. It was with sad
hearts we once again resumed our toilsome journey.</p>

<p>&#8220;We saw the bones of many people by the
wayside, bleaching in the sun, and it was ever a
constant reminder of the dear little one that was
left in the wilderness. However, I must not
dwell too long over this dark side of the picture,
as there was much to brighten and cheer us many
times; there were many strange, beautiful things
which were a great source of delight and wonder,
especially the boiling springs, the water so hot
it would cook anything, and within a short distance
springs of ice water, and others that made
a noise every few minutes like the puffing of a
steamer. Then there were rocks that resembled
unique old castles, as they came into view in the
distance. All alone in the prairie was one great
rock called Independence Rock; it was a mile
around it, half a mile wide and quite high in
some places; there were hundreds of emigrants&#8217;
names and dates carved on the side of the rock
as high as they could reach. It reminded one of
a huge monument. I wonder if old Father Time
has effaced all the names yet?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 173]</span>&#8220;In the distance we saw great herds of buffalo
and deer; the graceful, swift-footed antelope
was indeed a sight to behold, and we never grew
tired of the lovely strange flowers we found along
the road.</p>

<p>The young folks, as well as the old, had their
fun and jokes, and in the evening all would
gather &#8217;round the campfire, telling stories and
relating the trials and experiences each one had
encountered during the day, or meditating what
the next day would bring forth of weal or woe.
Thus the months and days passed by, and our
long journey came to an end when we reached
the Dalles on the Columbia River, where we embarked
on the small steamer that traveled down
the river and landed passengers and freight at
a small place called the Cascades. At this place
there was a portage of a half mile; then we traveled
on another steamer and landed in Portland
the last day of October, the year 1851, remained
there during the winter and in the spring of
1852 came to Puget Sound with a number of
others who were anxious for some of Uncle
Sam&#8217;s land.</p>

<p>&#8220;Olympia, a very small village, was the only
town on the Sound except Fort Steilacoom,
where a few soldiers were stationed. We spent a
short time in Olympia before going to Whidby
Island, where my father settled on his claim, and
we lived there five years, when we received a
patent from the government, but before our home<span class="pagenum">[Pg 174]</span>
was completed he had the misfortune to break
his arm, and, not being properly set, he was a
cripple the remainder of his life.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>In 1852 there were a couple of log houses
at Alki Point, occupied by Mr. Denny and others;
they called the &#8220;town&#8221; New York. We
went ashore from the schooner and visited
them.</p>

<p>To the above properly may be added an account
published in a Seattle paper:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Mrs. C. J. Crosby, of Olympia, gives the
following interesting sketch of her early days
on Whidby Island:</p>

<p>&#8220;As I am an old settler and termed a moss-back
by those who have come later, I feel urged
to relate a few facts pertaining to my early life
on Whidby Island in the days of 1852. My
father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and five children,
crossed the plains the year of 1851. We
started from Covington, Indiana, on the 24th day
of March and arrived in Portland, Oregon, the
last day of October.</p>

<p>&#8220;We remained there during the winter, coming
to Olympia the spring of 1852, where we
spent a short time before going down to the
island. My father settled on a claim near Pen&#8217;s
Cove, and almost opposite what is now called
Coupeville. We lived there five years, when he
sold his claim to Capt. Swift for three thousand
five hundred dollars and we returned to Olympia.</p>

<p>&#8220;The year &#8217;52 we found several families<span class="pagenum">[Pg 175]</span>
living on the island; also many bachelors who
had settled on claims. I have heard my mother
say she never saw the face of a white woman for
nine months. My third sister was the second
white child born on the island. I remember once
we did not have any flour or bread for six weeks
or more. We lived on potatoes, salmon and
clams. Finally a vessel came in the Sound bringing
some, but the price per barrel was forty-five
dollars and it was musty and sour. Mother
mixed potatoes with the flour so that we could
eat it at all, and also to make it last a long time.</p>

<p>&#8220;There is also another incident impressed
on my memory that I never can forget. One
morning an Indian came to the house with some
fish oil to sell, that and tallow candles being the
only kind of light we had in those days. She
paid him all he asked for the oil, besides giving
him a present, but he wanted more. He got very
angry and said he would shoot her. She told
him to shoot and took up the fire shovel to him.
Meantime she told my brother to go to a neighbor&#8217;s
house, about half a mile distant, but before
the men arrived the Indian cleared out. However,
had it not been for the kindness of the Indians
we would have suffered more than we did.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>From other published accounts I have culled
the following:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Peter Smith crossed the plains in 1852 and
settled near Portland. When it was known the
Indians would make trouble, Mr. Smith, being<span class="pagenum">[Pg 176]</span>
warned by a friendly Indian, took his family to
Fort Steilacoom and joined the &#8216;Home Guard,&#8217;
but shortly afterward joined a company of
militia and saw real war for three months.</p>

<p>&#8220;Just before the hostilities in 1855, two Indians
visited his house. One of them was a magnificent
specimen of physical manhood and chief
of his tribe. They wanted something to eat.
Now several settlers had been killed by Indians
after gaining access to their houses, but, nothing
daunted, Mrs. Smith went to work and prepared
a very fine dinner, and Mr. S. made them sandwiches
for their game bag, putting on an extra
allowance of sugar, and appeared to be as bold
as a lion. He also accepted an invitation to visit
their camp, which he did in their company, and
formed a lasting friendship.</p>

<p>&#8220;The mince, fruit and doughnuts did their
good work.</p>

<p>&#8220;During the war Mr. Smith had his neck
merely bruised by a bullet. On his return home
he found the Indians had been there before him
and stolen his hogs and horses and destroyed his
grain, a loss of eleven hundred dollars, for which
he has never received any pay.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page177" name="page177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER X.<br />

<span class="smaller">CAPT. HENRY ROEDER ON THE TRAIL.</span></h2>

<p>Capt. Roeder came by steamer to Portland
and thence made his way to Olympia overland
from the mouth of the Cowlitz River. This was
in the winter of 1852. The story of this journey
is best told in the words of the veteran pioneer
himself, who has narrated his first experiences
in the then Territory of Oregon as follows:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;In company with R. V. Peabody, I traveled
overland from the mouth of the Cowlitz, through
the mud to Olympia. We started early in December
from Portland. It took us four days to
walk from the Cowlitz River to Olympia, and
it was as hard traveling as I have ever seen.
Old residents will remember what was known as
Sanders&#8217; Bottom. It was mud almost to your
waist. We stopped one night with an old settler,
whose name I cannot now recall, but whom we
all called in those days &#8216;Old Hardbread.&#8217; On
the Skookumchuck we found lodging with Judge
Ford, and on arriving at Olympia we put up
with Mr. Sylvester, whose name is well known
to all the old residents on the Sound. I remember
that at Olympia we got our first taste of the
Puget Sound clam, and mighty glad we were,
too, to get a chance to eat some of them.</p>

<p>&#8220;From Olympia to Seattle we traveled by<span class="pagenum">[Pg 178]</span>
Indian canoe. I remember distinctly rounding
Alki Point and entering the harbor of Elliott
Bay. I saw what was, perhaps, the first house
that was built, where now stands the magnificent
city of Seattle. This was a cabin that was being
erected on a narrow strip of land jutting out
into the bay, which is now right in the heart of
Seattle. Dr. Maynard was the builder. It was
situated adjoining the lot at Commercial and
Main Streets, occupied by the old Arlington just
before the fire of 1889. The waters of the Sound
lapped the shores of the narrow peninsula upon
which it was built, but since then the waters have
been driven back by the filling of earth, sawdust
and rock, which was put on both sides of the
little neck of land.</p>

<p>&#8220;After a few days&#8217; stay here, Peabody and
I journeyed by Indian canoe to Whatcom. We
carried our canoe overland to Hood Canal. On
the second day out we encountered a terrible
storm and put into shelter with a settler on the
shore of the canal. His name was O&#8217;Haver, and
he lived with an Indian wife. We had white
turnips and dried salmon for breakfast and dried
salmon and white turnips for dinner. This bill
of fare was repeated in this fashion for three
days, and I want to tell you that we were glad
when the weather moderated and we were enabled
to proceed.</p>

<p>&#8220;We were told that we could procure something
in the edible line at Port Townsend, but<span class="pagenum">[Pg 179]</span>
were disappointed. The best we could obtain at
the stores was some hard bread, in which the
worms had propagated in luxuriant fashion.
This food was not so particularly appetizing, as
you may imagine. A settler kindly took pity on
us and shared his slender stock of food. Thence
we journeyed to Whatcom, where I have resided
nearly ever since.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Capt. Roeder told also before he had finished
his recital of an acquaintance he had formed in
California with the noted Spanish murderer and
bandit, Joaquin, and his tribe of cutthroats and
robbers. Joaquin&#8217;s raids and his long career
in crime among the mining camps of the early
days of California are part of the history of that
state. Capt. Roeder was traveling horseback on
one occasion between Marysville and Rush
Creek. This was in 1851. The night before he
left Marysville the sheriff and a posse had attempted
to capture Joaquin and his band. The
authorities had offered a reward of $10,000 for
Joaquin and $5,000 for his men, dead or alive.
The sheriff went out from Marysville with a
cigar in his mouth and his sombrero on the side
of his head, as if he were attending a picnic. It
was his own funeral, however, instead of a picnic,
for his body was picked out of a fence corner,
riddled with bullets.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;I was going at a leisurely gait over the
mountain road or bridle path that led from
Marysville to Rush Creek,&#8221; said Capt. Roeder.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page180" name="page180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
&#8220;Suddenly, after a bend in the road, I found
myself in the midst of a band of men mounted
on bronchos. They were dark-skinned and of
Spanish blood. Immediately I recognized Joaquin
and &#8216;Three-Fingered Jack,&#8217; his first lieutenant.
My heart thumped vigorously, and I
thought that it was all up with me. I managed
somehow to control myself and did not evince
any of the excitement I felt or give the outlaws
any sign that I knew or suspected who they were.</p>

<p>&#8220;One of the riders, after saluting me in
Spanish, asked me where I was from and
whither I was traveling. I told them freely and
frankly, as if the occurrence were an everyday
transaction. Learning that I had just come from
Marysville, the seat of their last outrage, they
inquired the news. I told them the truth&mdash;that
the camp was in a state of great excitement, due
to the late visit of the outlaw, Joaquin, and his
band; that the sheriff had been murdered and
three or four miners and others in the vicinity
had been murdered and robbed. It was Joaquin&#8217;s
pleasant practice to lariat a man, rob him and
cut his throat, leaving the body by the roadside.
They asked me which way Joaquin had gone and
I told them that he was seen last traveling towards
Arizona. As a matter of fact, the outlaw
and his band were then traveling in a direction
exactly opposite from that which I had given.</p>

<p>&#8220;My replies apparently pleased them.
&#8216;Three-Fingered Jack&#8217; proposed a drink, after<span class="pagenum">[Pg 181]</span>
asking me which way I traveled. I said, &#8216;I would
have proposed the compliment long ago had I
any in my canteen,&#8217; whereat Jack drew his own
bottle and offered me a drink.</p>

<p>&#8220;You may imagine my feelings then. I
knew that if they believed I had recognized them
they would give me poison or kill me with a knife.
I took the canteen and drank from it. You may
imagine my joy when I saw Jack lift the bottle
to his lips and drain it. Then I knew that I had
deceived them. We exchanged adieus in Spanish,
and that is the last I saw of Joaquin and his
associate murderers.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page182" name="page182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
<h2>PART II.<br />
<br />
MEN, WOMEN AND ADVENTURES</h2>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>CHAPTER I.<br />

<span class="smaller">SONG OF THE PIONEERS.</span></h2>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With faith&#8217;s clear eye we saw afar</span>
<span class="i0">In western sky our empire&#8217;s star</span>
<span class="i0">And strong of heart and brave of soul,</span>
<span class="i0">We marched and marched to reach the goal.</span>
<span class="i0">Unrolled a scroll, the great gray plains,</span>
<span class="i0">And traced thereon our wagon trains,</span>
<span class="i0">Our blazing campfires marked the road</span>
<span class="i0">As each succeeding night they glowed.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gaunt hunger, drouth, fierce heat and cold</span>
<span class="i0">Beset us as in days of old</span>
<span class="i0">Great dragons sought to swallow down</span>
<span class="i0">Adventurous heroes of renown.</span>
<span class="i0">There menaced us our tawny foes,</span>
<span class="i0">Where any bank or hillock rose;</span>
<span class="i0">A cloud of dust or shadows&#8217; naught</span>
<span class="i0">Seemed ever with some danger fraught.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Weird mountain ranges crossed our path</span>
<span class="i0">And frowned on us in seeming wrath;</span>
<span class="i0">Their beetling crags and icy brows</span>
<span class="i0">Well might a hundred fears arouse.</span>
<span class="i0">Impetuous rivers swirled and boiled,</span>
<span class="i0">As though from mischief ever foiled.</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 183]</span>At length in safety all were crossed,<br />
<span class="i0">Though roughly were our &#8220;schooners&#8221; tossed.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With joy we saw fair Puget Sound,</span>
<span class="i0">White, glistening peaks set all around.</span>
<span class="i0">At Alki Point our feet we stayed,</span>
<span class="i0">(The women wept, the children played).</span>
<span class="i0">On Chamber&#8217;s prairie, Whidby&#8217;s isle,</span>
<span class="i0">Duwamish river, mile on mile</span>
<span class="i0">Away from these, on lake or bay</span>
<span class="i0">The lonely settlers blazed the way</span>
<span class="i0">For civilization&#8217;s march and sway.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The mountains, forests, bays and streams,</span>
<span class="i0">Their grandeur wove into our dreams;</span>
<span class="i0">Our thoughts grew great and undismayed,</span>
<span class="i0">We toiled and sang or waiting, prayed.</span>
<span class="i0">As suns arose and then went down</span>
<span class="i0">We gazed on Rainier&#8217;s snowy crown.</span>
<span class="i0">God&#8217;s battle-tents gleamed in the west,</span>
<span class="i0">So pure they called our thoughts above</span>
<span class="i0">To heaven&#8217;s joy and peace and love.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We found a race tho&#8217; rude and wild,</span>
<span class="i0">Still tender toward friend or child,</span>
<span class="i0">For dark eyes laughed or shone with tears</span>
<span class="i0">As joy or sorrow filled the years;</span>
<span class="i0">Their black-eyed babes the red men kissed</span>
<span class="i0">And captive brothers sorely missed.</span>
<span class="i0">With broken hearts, brown mothers wept</span>
<span class="i0">When babes away by death were swept.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Chief Sealth stood the white man&#8217;s friend,</span>
<span class="i0">With insight keen he saw the end</span>
<span class="i0">Of struggles vain against a foe</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 184]</span>Whose coming forced their overthrow.<br />
<span class="i0">For pity oft he freed the slaves,</span>
<span class="i0">To reasoning cool he called his braves;</span>
<span class="i0">But bitter wrongs the pale-face wrought&mdash;</span>
<span class="i0">Revenge and hatred on us brought.</span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With life the woods and waters teemed,</span>
<span class="i0">A boundless store we never dreamed,</span>
<span class="i0">Of berries, deer and grouse and fish,</span>
<span class="i0">Sufficient for a gourmand&#8217;s wish.</span>
<span class="i0">Our dusky neighbors friendly-wise</span>
<span class="i0">Brought down the game before our eyes;</span>
<span class="i0">They wiled the glittering finny tribe,</span>
<span class="i0">Well pleased to trade with many a jibe.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We lit the forests far and wide</span>
<span class="i0">With pitchwood torches, true and tried,</span>
<span class="i0">We traveled far in frail canoes,</span>
<span class="i0">Cayuses rode, wore Indian shoes,</span>
<span class="i0">And clothes of skin, and ate clam stews,</span>
<span class="i0">Clam frys and chowder; baked or fried</span>
<span class="i0">The clam was then the settler&#8217;s pride;</span>
<span class="i0">&#8220;Clam-diggers&#8221; then, none dared deride.</span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A sound arose our hearts to thrill,</span>
<span class="i0">From whirring saws in Yesler&#8217;s mill;</span>
<span class="i0">The village crept upon the hill.</span>
<span class="i0">On many hills our city&#8217;s spread,</span>
<span class="i0">As fair a queen as one that wed</span>
<span class="i0">The Adriatic, so &#8217;tis said.</span>
<span class="i0">Our tasks so hard are well nigh done&mdash;</span>
<span class="i0">Today our hearts will beat as one!</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Each one may look now to the west</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 185]</span>For end of days declared the best,<br />
<span class="i0">Since sunset here is sunrise there,</span>
<span class="i0">Our heavenly home is far more fair.</span>
<span class="i0">As up the slope of coming years</span>
<span class="i0">Time pushes on the pioneers,</span>
<span class="i0">With peace may e&#8217;er our feet be shod</span>
<span class="i0">And press at last the mount of God.</span>
</div>
<span class="ralign">E. I. DENNY.</span>
<br />
Seattle, June, 1893.<br />
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page186" name="page186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II.<br />

<span class="smaller">BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES AND SKETCHES.</span></h2>

<p class="title">JOHN DENNY.</p>

<p>As elsewhere indicated, only a few of the
leading characters will be followed in their
careers. Of these, John Denny is fittingly placed
first.</p>

<p>John Denny was born of pioneer parents
near Lexington, Kentucky, May 4th, 1793. In
1813 he was a volunteer in Col. Richard M. Johnson&#8217;s
regiment of mounted riflemen, and served
through the war, participated in the celebrated
battle of the Thames in Canada, where Tecumseh
was killed and the British army under Proctor
surrendered. Disaster fell upon him, the results
of which followed him throughout his life. The
morning gun stampeded the horses in camp while
the soldiers were still asleep, and they ran over
John Denny where he lay asleep in a tent,
wounding his knee so that the synovial fluid ran
out and also broke three of his ribs. In 1823 he
removed to Putnam County, Indiana, then an
unknown wilderness, locating six miles east of
Greencastle, where he resided for the succeeding
twelve years. He is remembered as a leading
man of energy and public spirit.</p>

<p>In 1835 he removed to Illinois and settled in
Knox County, then near the frontier of civiliza<span class="pagenum">[Pg 187]</span>tion,
where he lived for the next succeeding sixteen
years, during which time he represented his
county in both branches of the state legislature,
serving with Lincoln, Douglas, Baker, Yates,
Washburn and Trumbull, with all of whom he
formed warm personal friendships, which lasted
through life, despite political differences.</p>

<p>In 1851, at an age when most men think they
have outlived their usefulness and seek the repose
demanded by their failing physical strength,
accompanied by his children and grandchildren,
he braved the toils and perils of an overland
journey to this then remote wilderness upon the
extreme borders of civilization and settled upon
a farm in Marion County, Oregon, while his sons,
Arthur A. and David T., took claims on Elliott
Bay and were among the founders of Seattle,
where they command universal respect for their
intelligence, integrity and public spirit, Arthur
having represented the territory as delegate in
congress and served several terms in the Territorial
Legislature.</p>

<p>David has held many responsible public
positions, including Probate Judge and Regent
of the University, and is respected by all as a
clear-headed and scrupulously honest man and
most estimable citizen.</p>

<p>John Denny remained in Oregon about six
years, but held no official position there, for the
reason that he was an uncompromising Whig and
Oregon was overwhelmingly Democratic, includ<span class="pagenum"><a id="page188" name="page188">[Pg 188]</a></span>ing
among the leaders of the Democratic party
George H. Williams, Judge Deady, Gov. Gibbs
and much of the best intellect of the state.</p>

<p>He, however, entered warmly into the political
discussions of the times, and many incidents
are remembered and many anecdotes told of the
astonishment and discomfiture of some of the
most pretentious public speakers when meeting
the unpretending pioneer farmer in public discussion.
He was a natural orator and had improved
his gift by practice and extensive reading.</p>

<p>Few professional men were better posted in
current history and governmental philosophy or
could make a better use of their knowledge in
addressing a popular audience.</p>

<p>In 1859 he removed to Seattle, and from that
time on to the day of his death was a recognized
leader in every enterprise calculated to promote
the prosperity of the town or advance its educational
and social interests. No public measure,
no public meeting to consider public enterprise,
was a success in which he was not a central
figure, not as an assumed director, but as an
earnest co-operator, who enthused others by his
own undaunted spirit of enterprise, and when
past eighty years of age his voice was heard stirring
up the energies of the people, and by his
example, no less than his precepts, he shamed
the listless and selfish younger men into activity
and public spirit.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 189]</span>When any special legislative aid was desired
for this section, John Denny was certain to be
selected to obtain it; by his efforts mainly the
Territorial University was located at this place.</p>

<p>He passed his long and active life almost
wholly upon the frontiers of civilization, not
from any aversion to the refinements and restraints
of social life, for few men possessed
higher social qualities or had in any greater
degree the nicer instincts of a gentleman&mdash;he
held a patent of nobility under the signet of the
Almighty, and his intercourse with others was
ever marked by a courtesy which betokened not
only self-respect but a due regard for the rights
and opinions of others. He was impelled by as
noble ambition as ever sought the conquest of
empire or the achievement of personal glory&mdash;the
subduing of the unoccupied portions of his
country to the uses of man, with the patriotic
purpose of extending his country&#8217;s glory and
augmenting its resources.</p>

<p>His first care in every settlement was to
establish and promote education, religion and
morality as the only true foundation of social
as well as individual prosperity, and with all his
courage and manly strength he rarely, if ever,
was drawn into a lawsuit.</p>

<p>John Denny was of that noble race of men,
now nearly extinct, who formed the vanguard of
Western civilization and were the founders of
empire. Their day is over, their vocation ended,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 190]</span>
because the limit of their enterprise has been
reached. Among the compeers of the same stock
were Dick Johnson, Harrison, Lincoln, Harden
and others famous in the history of the country,
who only excelled him in historic note by biding
their opportunities in waiting to reap the fruits
of the harvest which they had planted. He was
the peer of the best in all the elements of manhood,
of heart and brain. In all circumstances
and surroundings he was a recognized leader of
men, and would have been so honored and so
commanded that leading place in public history
had he waited for the development of the social
institutions which he helped to plant in the Western
states, now the seat of empire. All who
entered his presence were instinctively impressed
by his manhood. Yet no man was less pretentious
or more unostentatious in his intercourse
with others.</p>

<p>He reverenced his manhood, and felt himself
here among men his brethren under the eye of a
common Father.</p>

<p>He felt that he was bound to work for all
like a brother and like a son.</p>

<p>So he was brave, so he was true, so his integrity
was unsullied, so not a stain dims his
memory; so he rebuked vice and detested meanness
and hated with a cordial hate all falsehood,
all dishonesty and all trickery; so he was the
chivalrous champion of the innocent and oppressed;
so he was gentle and merciful, because<span class="pagenum">[Pg 191]</span>
he was working among a vast family as a brother
&#8220;recognizing the Great Father, Who sits over
all, Who is forever Truth and forever Love.&#8221;</p>

<p>Such words as these were said of him at the
time of his death, when the impressions of his
personality were fresh in the minds of the people.</p>

<p>He entered into rest July 28th, 1875.</p>

<p>It is within my recollection that the keen
criticisms and droll anecdotes of John Denny
were often repeated by his hearers. The power
with which he swayed an audience was something
wonderful to behold; the burning enthusiasm
which his oratory kindled, inciting to action,
the waves of convulsive laughter his wit evoked
were abundant evidence of his influence.</p>

<p>In repartee, he excelled. At one time when
A. A. Denny was a member of the Territorial
Legislature, John Denny was on his way to the
capital to interview him, doubtless concerning
some important measure; he received the hospitality
of a settler who was a stranger to him
and moreover very curious with regard to the
traveler&#8217;s identity and occupation. At last this
questioning brought forth the remarkable statement
that he, John Denny, had a son in the
lunatic ass-ylum in Olympia whom he intended
visiting.</p>

<p>The questioner delightedly related it afterward,
laughing heartily at the compliment paid
to the Legislature.</p>

<p>In a published sketch a personal friend<span class="pagenum">[Pg 192]</span>
says: &#8220;He was so full of humor that it was
impossible to conceal it, and his very presence
became a mirth-provoking contagion absolutely
irresistible in its effects.</p>

<p>&#8220;Let him come when he would, everybody
was ready to drop everything else to listen to a
story from Uncle John.</p>

<p>&#8220;He went home to the States during the
war, via the Isthmus of Panama. On the trip
down from San Francisco the steamer ran on a
rock and stuck fast. Of course, there was a
great fright and excitement, many crying out
&#8216;We shall all be drowned,&#8217; &#8216;Lord save us!&#8217; etc.
Amid it all Uncle John coolly took in the chances
of the situation, and when a little quiet had been
restored so he could be heard by all in the cabin,
he said: &#8216;Well, I reckon there was a fair bargain
between me and the steamship company to
carry me down to Panama, and they&#8217;ve got their
cash for it, and now if they let me drown out
here in this ornery corner, where I can&#8217;t have a
decent funeral, I&#8217;ll sue &#8217;em for damages, and
bust the consarned old company all to flinders.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;This had the effect to divert the passengers,
and helped to prevent a panic, and not a
life was lost.</p>

<p>&#8220;In early life he had been a Whig and in
Illinois had fought many a hard battle with the
common enemy. He had represented his district
repeatedly in the legislature of that state, and
he used to tell with pride, and a good deal of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 193]</span>
satisfaction, how one day a handful of the Whigs,
Old Abe and himself among the number, broke
a quorum of the house by jumping from a
second-story window, thereby preventing the
passage of a bill which was obnoxious to the
Whigs.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Democrats had been watching their
opportunity, and having secured a quorum with
but few of the Whigs in the house, locked the
doors and proposed to put their measure
through. But the Whigs nipped the little game
in the manner related.&#8221;</p>

<p>After Lincoln had become President and
John Denny had crossed the Plains and pioneered
it in Oregon and Washington Territories,
the latter visited the national capital on important
business.</p>

<p>While there Mr. Denny attended a presidential
reception and tested his old friend&#8217;s
memory in this way: Forbidding his name to
be announced, he advanced in the line and gave
his hand to President Lincoln, then essayed to
pass on. Lincoln tightened his grasp and said,
&#8220;No you don&#8217;t, John Denny; you come around
back here and we&#8217;ll have a talk after a while.&#8221;</p>

<p>On the stump he was perfectly at home,
never coming off second best. His ready wit
and tactics were sure to stand him in hand at
the needed moment.</p>

<p><a id="VIII" name="VIII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 297px;">
<img src="images/opp193.jpg" width="297" height="500" alt="" title="SARAH DENNY, JOHN DENNY, S. LORETTA DENNY" />
<span class="caption">SARAH DENNY<br /> JOHN DENNY,&nbsp;&nbsp; S. LORETTA DENNY</span>
</div>

<p>In one of the early campaigns of Washington
Territory, which was a triangular combat
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 194]</span>waged by Republicans, Democrats and &#8220;Bolters,&#8221;
John Denny, who was then a Republican,
became one of the third party. At a political
meeting which was held in Seattle, at which I
was present, a young man recently from the
East and quite dandyish, a Republican and a
lawyer, made quite a high-sounding speech;
after he sat down John Denny advanced to
speak.</p>

<p>He began very coolly to point out how they
had been deceived by the rascally Republican
representative in his previous term of office, and
suddenly pointing his long, lean forefinger directly
at the preceding speaker, his voice gathering
great force and intensity, he electrified
the audience by saying, &#8220;And no little huckleberry
lawyer can blind us to the facts in the
case.&#8221;</p>

<p>The audience roared, the &#8220;huckleberry lawyer&#8217;s&#8221;
face was scarlet and his curly locks fairly
bristled with embarrassment. The hearers were
captivated and listened approvingly to a round
scoring of the opponents of the &#8220;bolters.&#8221;</p>

<p>He was a fearless advocate of temperance,
or prohibition rather, of woman suffragists
when they were weak, few and scoffed at, an
abolitionist and a determined enemy of tobacco.
I have seen him take his namesake among the
grandchildren between his aged knees and say,
&#8220;Don&#8217;t ever eat tobacco, John; your grandfather
wishes he had never touched it.&#8221; His oft-<span class="pagenum">[Pg 195]</span>repeated
advice was heeded by this grandson,
who never uses it in any form.</p>

<p>He was tall, slender, with snow-white hair
and a speaking countenance full of the most
glowing intelligence.</p>

<p>When the news came to the little village of
Seattle that he had returned from Washington
City, where he had been laboring to secure an
appropriation for the Territorial University,
two of his little grandchildren ran up the hill
to meet him; he took off his high silk hat, his
silvery hair shining in the fair sunlight and
smiled a greeting, as they grasped either hand
and fairly led him to their home.</p>

<p>A beautiful tribute from the friend before
quoted closes this brief and inadequate sketch:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;He sleeps out yonder midway between the
lakes (Washington and Union), where the
shadows of the Cascades in the early morning
fall upon the rounded mound of earth that marks
his resting place, and the shadows of the Olympics
in the early evening rest lovingly and
caressingly on the same spot; there, where the
song birds of the forest and the wild flowers and
gentle zephyrs, laden with the perfume of the
fir and cedar, pay a constant tribute to departed
goodness and true worth.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 196]</span></p>
<p class="title">SARAH LATIMER DENNY.</p>

<p>The subject of this sketch was a Tennessean
of an ancestry notable for staying qualities, religious
steadfastness and solid character, as well
as gracious and kindly bearing.</p>

<p>On her father&#8217;s side she traced descent from
the martyr, Hugh Latimer, and although none
of the name have been called to die at the stake
in the latter days, Washington Latimer, nephew
of Sarah Latimer Denny, was truly a martyr to
principle, dying in Andersonville prison during
the Rebellion.</p>

<p>The prevailing sentiment of the family was
patriotic and strongly in favor of the abolition
movement.</p>

<p>One of the granddaughters pleasurably recalls
the vision of Joseph Latimer, father of
Sarah, sitting in his dooryard, under the boughs
of a great Balm of Gilead tree, reading his Bible.</p>

<p>Left to be the helper of her mother when
very young, by the marriage of her elder sister,
she quickly became a competent manager in
household affairs, sensible of her responsibilities,
being of a grave and quiet disposition.</p>

<p>She soon married a young Baptist minister,
Richard Freeman Boren, whose conversion and
call to the ministry were clear and decided. His
first sermon was preached in the sitting room
of a private house, where were assembled, among
others, a number of his gay and pleasure-loving<span class="pagenum">[Pg 197]</span>
companions, whom he fearlessly exhorted to a
holy life.</p>

<p>His hands were busy with his trade of
cabinetmaking a part of the time, for the support
of his family, although he rode from place
to place to preach.</p>

<p>A few years of earnest Christian work, devoted
affection and service to his family and he
passed away to his reward, leaving the young
widow with three little children, the youngest
but eighteen months old.</p>

<p>In her old age she often reverted to their
brief, happy life together, testifying that he
never spoke a cross word to her.</p>

<p>She told of his premonition of death and
her own remarkable dream immediately preceding
that event.</p>

<p>While yet in apparently perfect health he
disposed of all his tools, saying that he would
not need them any more.</p>

<p>One night, toward morning, she dreamed
that she saw a horse saddled and bridled at the
gate and some one said to her that she must
mount and ride to see her husband, who was very
sick; she obeyed, in her dream, riding over a
strange road, crossing a swollen stream at one
point.</p>

<p>At daylight she awoke; a horse with side-saddle
on was waiting and a messenger called
her to go to her husband, as he was dangerously
ill at a distant house. Exactly as in her dream<span class="pagenum">[Pg 198]</span>
she was conducted, she traversed the road and
crossed the swollen stream to reach the place
where he lay, stricken with a fatal malady.</p>

<p>After his death she returned to her father&#8217;s
house, but the family migrated from Tennessee
to Illinois, spent their first winter in Sangamon
County, afterward settling in Knox County.</p>

<p>There the brave young pioneer took up her
abode in a log cabin on a piece of land which she
purchased with the proceeds of her own hard
toil.</p>

<p>The cabin was built without nails, of either
oak or black walnut logs, it is not now known,
with oak clapboards, braces and weight-poles
and puncheon floor. There was one window
without glass, a stick and clay mortar chimney,
and a large, cheerful fireplace where the backlogs
and fore-sticks held pyramids of dancing,
ruddy flames, and the good cooking was done in
the good old way.</p>

<p>By industry and thrift everything was
turned to account. The ground was made to
yield wheat, corn and flax; the last was taken
through the whole process of manufacture into
bed and table linen on the spot. Sheep were
raised, the wool sheared, carded, spun, dyed and
woven, all by hand, by this indefatigable worker,
just as did many others of her time.</p>

<p>They made almost every article of clothing
they wore, besides cloth for sale.</p>

<p>Great, soft, warm feather beds comforted<span class="pagenum">[Pg 199]</span>
them in the cold Illinois winters, the contents of
which were plucked from the home flock of
geese.</p>

<p>As soon as the children were old enough,
they assisted in planting corn and other crops.</p>

<p>The domestic supplies were almost entirely
of home production and manufacture. Soap for
washing owed its existence to the ash-hopper
and scrap-kettle, and the soap-boiling was an
important and necessary process. The modern
housewife would consider herself much afflicted
if she had to do such work.</p>

<p>And the sugar-making, which had its pleasant
side, the sugar camp and its merry tenants.</p>

<p>About half a mile from the cabin stood the
sugar maple grove to which this energetic provider
went to tap the trees, collect the sap and
finally boil the same until the &#8220;sugaring off.&#8221;
A considerable event it was, with which they began
the busy season.</p>

<p>One of the daughters of Sarah Latimer
Denny remembers that when a little child she
went with her mother to the sugar camp where
they spent the night. Resting on a bed of leaves,
she listened to her mother as she sang an old
camp meeting hymn, &#8220;Wrestling Jacob,&#8221; while
she toiled, mending the fire and stirring the sap,
all night long under dim stars sprinkled in the
naked branches overhead.</p>

<p>Other memories of childish satisfaction
hold visions of the early breakfast when &#8220;Uncle<span class="pagenum">[Pg 200]</span>
John&#8221; came to see his widowed sister, who, with
affectionate hospitality, set the &#8220;Johnny-cake&#8221;
to bake on a board before the fire, made chocolate,
fried the chicken and served them with
snowy biscuits and translucent preserves.</p>

<p>For the huge fireplace, huge lengths of logs,
for the backlogs, were cut, which required three
persons to roll in place.</p>

<p>Cracking walnuts on the generous hearth
helped to beguile the long winter evenings. A
master might have beheld a worthy subject in
the merry children and their mother thus occupied.</p>

<p>If other light were needed than the ruddy
gleams the fire gave, it was furnished by a lard
lamp hung by a chain and staple in the wall, or
one of a pallid company of dipped candles.</p>

<p>Sometimes there were unwelcome visitors
bent on helping themselves to the best the farm
afforded; one day a wolf chased a chicken up
into the chimney corner of the Boren cabin, to
the consternation of the small children. Wolves
also attacked the sheep alongside the cabin at
the very moment when one of the family was
trying to catch some lambs; such savage boldness
brought hearty and justifiable screams from
the young shepherdess thus engaged.</p>

<p>The products of the garden attached to this
cabin are remembered as wonderful in richness
and variety; the melons, squashes, pumpkins,
etc., the fragrant garden herbs, the dill and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 201]</span>
caraway seeds for the famous seedcakes carried
in grandmothers&#8217; pockets or &#8220;reticules.&#8221; In
addition to these, the wild fruits and game; haws,
persimmons, grapes, plums, deer and wild turkey;
the medicinal herbs, bone-set and blood-root;
the nut trees heavily laden in autumn, all
ministered to the comfort and health of the pioneers.</p>

<p>The mistress was known for her generous
hospitality then, and throughout her life. In
visiting and treating the sick she distanced educated
practitioners in success. Never a violent
partisan, she was yet a steadfast friend. One
daughter has said that she never knew any one
who came so near loving her neighbor as herself.
Just, reasonable, kind, ever ready with sympathetic
and wholesome advice, it was applicably
said of her, &#8220;She openeth her mouth with wisdom
and in her tongue is the law of kindness.&#8221;</p>

<p>As the years went by the children were sent
to school, the youngest becoming a teacher.</p>

<p>Toilsome years they were, but doubtless full
of rich reward.</p>

<p>Afterward, while yet in the prime of life,
she married John Denny, a Kentuckian and pioneer
of Indiana, Illinois and finally of Oregon
and Washington.</p>

<p>With this new alliance new fields of effort
and usefulness opened before her. The unusual
occurrence of a widowed mother and her two
daughters marrying a widower and his two sons<span class="pagenum">[Pg 202]</span>
made this new tie exceeding strong. With
them, as before stated, she crossed the plains
and &#8220;pioneered it&#8221; in Oregon among the Waldo
Hills, from whence she moved to Seattle on
Puget Sound with her husband and little daughter,
Loretta Denny, in 1859.</p>

<p>The shadow of pioneer days was scarcely
receding, the place was a little straggling village
and much remained of beginnings. As before in
all other places, her busy hands found much to
do; many a pair of warm stockings and mittens
from her swift needles found their way into the
possession of the numerous grand and great-grandchildren.
In peaceful latter days she sat
in a cozy corner with knitting basket at hand,
her Bible in easy reach.</p>

<p>Her mind was clear and vigorous and she
enjoyed reading and conversing upon topics old
and new.</p>

<p>Her cottage home with its blooming plants,
of which &#8220;Grandmother&#8217;s calla,&#8221; with its frequent,
huge, snowy spathes, was much admired,
outside the graceful laburnum tree and sweet-scented
roses, was a place that became a Mecca
to the tired feet and weary hearts of her kins-folk
and acquaintances.</p>

<p>With devoted, filial affection her youngest
daughter, S. Loretta Denny, remained with her
until she entered into rest, February 10th, 1888.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page203" name="page203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III.<br />

<span class="smaller">DAVID THOMAS DENNY.</span></h2>

<p>David Thomas Denny was the first of the
name to set foot upon the shores of Puget Sound.
Born in Putnam County, Indiana, March 17th,
1832, he was nineteen years of age when he
crossed the plains with his father&#8217;s company in
1851. He is a descendant of an ancient family,
English and Scotch, who moved to Ireland and
thence to America, settling in Berk&#8217;s County,
Pa. His father was John Denny, a notable man
in his time, a soldier of 1812, and a volunteer
under William Henry Harrison.</p>

<p>The long, rough and toilsome journey across
the plains was a schooling for the subsequent
trials of pioneer life. Young as he was, he stood
in the very forefront, the outmost skirmish line
of his advancing detachment of the great army
moving West. The anxious watch, the roughest
toil, the reconnaissance fell to his lot. He drove
a four-horse team, stood guard at night, alternately
sleeping on the ground, under the wagon,
hunted for game to aid in their sustenance, and,
briefly, served his company in many ways with
the energy and faithfulness which characterized
his subsequent career.</p>

<p>With his party he reached Portland in August,
1851; from thence, with J. N. Low, he made<span class="pagenum">[Pg 204]</span>
his way to Olympia on Puget Sound, where he
arrived footsore and weary, they having traveled
on foot the Hudson Bay Company&#8217;s trail
from the Columbia River. From Olympia, with
Low, Lee Terry, Captain Fay and others, he
journeyed in an open boat to Duwampsh Head,
which has suffered many changes of name, where
they camped, sleeping under the boughs of a
great cedar tree the first night, September 25th,
1851.</p>

<p>The next day Denny, Terry and Low made
use of the skill and knowledge of the native inhabitants
by hiring two young Indians to take
them up the Duwampsh River in their canoe.
He was left to spend the following night with
the two Indians, as his companions had wandered
so far away that they could not return,
but remained at an Indian camp farther up the
river. On the 28th they were reunited and returned
to their first camp, from which they removed
the same day to Alki Point.</p>

<p>A cabin was commenced and after a time,
Low and Terry returned to Portland, leaving
David Thomas Denny, nineteen years of age, the
only white person on Elliott Bay. There were
then swarms of Indians on the Sound.</p>

<p>For three weeks he held this outpost of
civilization, a part of the time being far from
well. So impressed was he with the defenselessness
of the situation that he expressed himself
as &#8220;sorry&#8221; when his friends landed from the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 205]</span>
schooner &#8220;Exact&#8221; at Alki Point on the 13th of
November, 1851. No doubt realizing that an
irretrievable step had been taken, he tried to
reassure them by explaining that &#8220;the cabin was
unfinished and that they would not be comfortable.&#8221;
Many incidents of his early experience
are recorded in this volume elsewhere.</p>

<p>He was married on the 23rd of January,
1853, to Miss Louisa Boren, one of the most intelligent,
courageous and devoted of pioneer
women. They were the first white couple married
in Seattle. He was an explorer of the eastern
side of Elliott Bay, but was detained at home
in the cabin by lameness occasioned by a cut on
his foot, when A. A. Denny, W. N. Bell and C.
D. Boren took their claims, so had fourth choice.</p>

<p>For this reason his claim awaited the growth
of the town of Seattle many years, but finally
became very valuable.</p>

<p>It was early discovered by the settlers that
he was a conscientious man; so well established
was this fact that he was known by the sobriquet
of &#8220;Honest Dave.&#8221;</p>

<p>Like all the other pioneers, he turned his
hand to any useful thing that was available, cutting
and hewing timber for export, clearing a
farm, hauling wood, tending cattle, anything
honorable; being an advocate of total abstinence
and prohibition, <i>he never kept a saloon</i>.</p>

<p>He has done all in his power to discountenance
the sale and use of intoxicants, the baleful<span class="pagenum">[Pg 206]</span>
effects of which were manifest among both
whites and Indians.</p>

<p>Every movement in the early days seems to
have been fraught with danger. D. T. Denny
traveled in a canoe with two Indians from the
Seattle settlement in July, 1852, to Bush&#8217;s
Prairie, back of Olympia, to purchase cattle for
A. A. Denny, carrying two hundred dollars in
gold for that purpose. He risked his life in so
doing, as he afterward learned that the Indians
thought of killing him and taking the money, but
for some unknown reason decided not to do the
deed.</p>

<p>He was a volunteer during the Indian war
of 1855-6, in Company C, and with his company
was not far distant when Lieut. Slaughter was
killed, with several others. Those who survived
the attack were rescued by this company.</p>

<p>On the morning of the battle of Seattle, he
was standing guard near Fort Decatur; the most
thrilling moment of the day to him was probably
that in which he helped his wife and child into
the fort as they fled from the Indians.</p>

<p>Although obliged to fight the Indians in
self-defense in their warlike moods, yet he was
ever their true friend and esteemed by them as
such. He learned to speak the native tongue
fluently, in such manner as to be able to converse
with all the neighboring tribes, and unnumbered
times, through years of disappointment, sorrow<span class="pagenum">[Pg 207]</span>
and trouble, they sought his advice and sympathy.</p>

<p>For a quarter of a century the hand-to-hand
struggle went on by the pioneer and his family,
to conquer the wilds, win a subsistence and obtain
education.</p>

<p>By thrift and enterprise they attained independence,
and as they went along helped to
lay the foundations of many institutions and
enterprises of which the commonwealth is now
justly proud.</p>

<p>David Thomas Denny possessed the gifts
and abilities of a typical pioneer; a good shot,
his trusty rifle provided welcome articles of
food; he could make, mend and invent useful
and necessary things for pioneer work; it was a
day, in fact, when &#8220;Adam delved&#8221; and &#8220;Eve&#8221;
did likewise, and no man was too fine a &#8220;gentleman&#8221;
to do any sort of work that was required.</p>

<p>Having the confidence of the community, he
was called upon to fill many positions of trust;
he was a member of the first Board of Trustees
of Seattle, Treasurer of King County, Regent
of the Territorial University, Probate Judge,
School Director, etc., etc.</p>

<p>Although a Republican and an abolitionist,
he did not consider every Democrat a traitor,
and thereby incurred the enmity of some. Party
feeling ran high.</p>

<p>At that time (during the Rebellion) there
stood on Pioneer Place in Seattle a very tall<span class="pagenum">[Pg 208]</span>
flagstaff. Upon the death of a prominent Democrat
it was proposed to half-mast the flag on this
staff, but during the night the halyards were cut,
it was supposed by a woman, at the instigation
of her husband and others, but the friends of
the deceased hired &#8220;Billie&#8221; Fife, a well-known
cartoonist and painter, to climb to the top and
rig a new rope, a fine sailor feat, for which he
received twenty dollars.</p>

<p>The first organizer of Good Templar Lodges
was entertained at Mr. Denny&#8217;s house, and he,
with several of the family, became charter members
of the first organization on October 4th,
1866. He was the first chaplain of the first lodge
of I. O. G. T. organized in Seattle.</p>

<p>In after years the subject of this sketch became
prominent in the Prohibition movement;
it was suggested to him at one time that he permit
his name to be used as Prohibition candidate
for Governor of the State of Washington, but
the suggestion was never carried out. He would
have considered it an honor to be defeated in a
good cause.</p>

<p>He also became a warm advocate of equal
suffrage, and at both New York and Omaha M.
E. general conferences he heartily favored the
admission of women lay delegates, and much
regretted the adverse decision by those in authority.</p>

<p>The old pioneers were and are generally
broad, liberal and progressive in their ideas and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 209]</span>
principles; they found room and opportunity to
think and act with more freedom than in the
older centers of civilization, consequently along
every line they are in the forefront of modern
thought.</p>

<p>For its commercial development, Seattle
owes much to David Thomas Denny, and others
like him, in perhaps a lesser degree. In the days
of small beginnings, he recognized the possibilities
of development in the little town so fortunately
located. His hard-earned wealth, energy
and talents have been freely given to make the
city of the present as well as that which it will be.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny made a valuable gift to the
city of Seattle in a plot of land in the heart of
the best residence portion of the city. Many
years ago it was used as a cemetery, but was
afterward vacated and is now a park. He landed
on the site of Seattle with twenty-five cents in
his pocket. His acquirement of wealth after
years of honest work was estimated at three
million.</p>

<p>Not only his property, money, thought and
energy have gone into the building up of Seattle,
but hundreds of people, newly arrived, have occupied
his time in asking information and advice
in regard to their settling in the West.</p>

<p><a id="IX" name="IX"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 354px;">
<img src="images/opp209.jpg" width="354" height="600" alt="" title="DAVID THOMAS DENNY" />
<span class="caption">DAVID THOMAS DENNY</span>
</div>

<p>He was president of the first street railway
company of Seattle, and afterward spent thousands
of dollars on a large portion of the system
of cable and electric roads of which the citizens
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 210]</span>of Seattle are wont to boast, unknowing, careless
or forgetting that what is their daily convenience
impoverished those who built, equipped and
operated them. He and his company owned and
operated for a time the Consolidated Electric
road to North Seattle, Cedar Street and Green
Lake; the cable road to Queen Anne Hill, and
built and equipped the &#8220;Third Street and Suburban&#8221;
electric road to the University and Ravenna
Park.</p>

<p>The building and furnishing of a large
sawmill with the most approved modern machinery,
the establishing of an electric light plant,
furnishing a water supply to a part of the city,
and in many other enterprises he was actively
engaged.</p>

<p>For many years he paid into the public
treasury thousands of dollars for taxes on his
unimproved, unproductive real estate, a considerable
portion of which was unjustly required
and exacted, as it was impossible to have sold
the property at its assessed valuation. As one
old settler said, he paid &#8220;robber taxes.&#8221;</p>

<p>When, in the great financial panic that
swept over the country in 1893, he obtained a
loan of the city treasurer and mortgaged to
secure it real estate worth at least three times
the sum borrowed, the mob cried out against him
and sent out his name as one who had robbed the
city, forsooth!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page211" name="page211">[Pg 211]</a></span>This was not the only occasion when the
canaille expressed their disapproval.</p>

<p>Previous to, and during the anti-Chinese
riot in Seattle, which occurred on Sunday, February
7th, 1886, he received a considerable
amount of offensive attention. In the dark district
of Seattle, there gathered one day a forerunner
of the greater mob which created so much
disturbance, howling that they would burn him
out. &#8220;We&#8217;ll burn his barn,&#8221; they yelled, their
provocation being that he employed Chinese
house servants and rented ground to Mongolian
gardeners. The writer remembers that it was a
fine garden, in an excellent state of cultivation.
No doubt many of the agitators themselves had
partaken of the products thereof many times,
it being one of the chief sources of supply of the
city.</p>

<p>The threats were so loud and bitter against
the friends of the Chinese that it was felt necessary
to post a guard at his residence. The eldest
son was in Oregon, attending the law school
of the University; the next one, D. Thos. Denny,
Jr., not yet of age, served in the militia during
the riot; the third and youngest remained at
home ready to help defend the same. The outlook
was dark, but after some serious remarks
concerning the condition of things, Mr. Denny
went up stairs and brought down his Winchester
rifle, stood it in a near corner and calmly resumed
his reading. As he had dealt with savages<span class="pagenum">[Pg 212]</span>
before, he stood his ground. At a notorious trial
of white men for unprovoked murder of Chinese,
it was brought out that &#8220;Mr. David Denny, he
&#8216;fliend&#8217; (friend) of Chinese, Injun and Nigger.&#8221;</p>

<p>During the time that his great business
called for the employment of a large force of
men, he was uniformly kind to them, paying the
highest market price for their labor. Some
were faithful and honest, some were not; instead
of its being a case of &#8220;greedy millionaire,&#8221;
it was a case of just the opposite thing, as it was
well known that he was robbed time and again by
dishonest employes.</p>

<p>When urged to close down his mill, as it was
running behind, he said &#8220;I can&#8217;t do it, it will
throw a hundred men out of employment and
their families will suffer.&#8221; So he borrowed
money, paying a ruinous rate of interest, and
kept on, hoping that business would improve;
it did not and the mill finally went under. A
good many employes who received the highest
wages for the shortest hours, struck for more,
and others were full of rage when the end came
and there were only a few dollars due on their
wages.</p>

<p>Neither was he a &#8220;heartless landlord,&#8221; the
heartlessness was on the other side, as numbers
of persons sneaked off without paying their rent,
and many built houses, the lumber in which was
never paid for.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 213]</span></p>

<p>According to their code it was not <i>stealing</i>
to rob a person supposed to be wealthy.</p>

<p>The common remark was, &#8220;Old Denny can
stand it, he&#8217;s got lots of money.&#8221;</p>

<p>The anarchist-communistic element displayed
their strength and venom in many ways
in those days. They heaped abuse on those, who
unfortunately for themselves, employed men,
and bit the hand that fed them.</p>

<p>Their cry was &#8220;Death to Capitalists!&#8221; They
declared their intention at one time of hanging
the leading business men of Seattle, breaking
the vaults of the bank open, burning the records
and dividing lands and money among themselves.
But the reign of martial law at the culmination
of their heroic efforts in the Anti-Chinese
riot, brought them to their senses, the history
of which period may be told in another
chapter.</p>

<p>From early youth, David Thomas Denny
was a faithful member of the M. E. Church,
serving often in official capacity and rendering
valuable assistance, with voice, hand and pocketbook.
Twice he was sent as lay delegate to the
General Conference, a notable body of representative
men, of which he was a member in 1888
and again in 1892.</p>

<p>The conference of 1888 met in New York
City and held its sessions at the Metropolitan
Opera House. His family accompanied him,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page214" name="page214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
crossing the continent by the Canadian Pacific
R. R. by way of Montreal to New York.</p>

<p>In the latter place, they met their first great
sorrow, in the death, after a brief illness, of the
beloved youngest daughter, the return and her
burial in her native land by the sundown seas.
Soon followed other days of sadness and trial;
in less than a year, the second daughter, born in
Fort Decatur, passed away, and others of the
family, hovered on the brink of the grave, but
happily were restored.</p>

<p>Loss of fortune followed loss of friends as
time went on, but these storms passed and calm
returned. He went steadfastly on, confident of
the rest that awaits the people of God.</p>

<p>At the age of sixty-seven he was wide awake,
alert and capable of enduring hardships, no
doubt partly owing to a temperate life. In late
years he interested himself in mining and was
hopeful of his own and his friends&#8217; future, and
that of the state he helped to found.</p>

<p>While sojourning in the Cascade Mountains
in 1891, David T. Denny wrote the following:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Ptarmigan Park: On Sept. 25th, 1851,
just forty years ago, Leander Terry, an older
brother of C. C. Terry, John N. Low and I,
landed on what has since been known as Freeport
Point, now West Seattle. We found Chief
Sealth with his tribe stopping on the beach and
fishing for salmon&mdash;a quiet, dignified man was
Sealth.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 215]</span>&#8220;We camped on the Point and slept under a
large cedar tree, and the next morning hired a
couple of young Indians to take us up the Duwampsh
River; stayed one night at the place
which was afterward taken for a claim by E. B.
Maple, then returned and camped one night at
our former place on the Point; then on the morning
of the 28th of September went around to Alki
Point and put down the foundation of the first
cabin started in what is now King County.
Looking out over Elliott Bay at that time the site
where Seattle now stands, was an unbroken
forest with no mark made by the hand of man
except a little log fort made by the Indians,
standing near the corner of Commercial and Mill
Streets.</p>

<p>&#8220;Since that day we have had our Indian war,
the Crimean war has been fought, the war between
Prussia and Austria, that between France
and Prussia, the great Southern Rebellion and
many smaller wars.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then to think of the wonderful achievements
in the use of electricity and the end is not yet.</p>

<p>&#8220;I should like to live another forty years just
to see the growth of the Sound country, if nothing
else. I fully believe it is destined to be the
most densely populated and wealthiest of the
United States. One thing that leads me to this
conclusion is the evidence of a large aboriginal
population which subsisted on the natural productions
of the land and water. Reasoning by<span class="pagenum">[Pg 216]</span>
comparison, what a vast multitude can be supported
by an intelligent use of the varied resources
of the country and the world to draw
from besides.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>And again he wrote:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Ptarmigan Park, Sept. 28th, 1891: Just
forty years ago yesterday, J. N. Low, Lee Terry
and myself laid the foundation of the first cabin
started in what is now King County, Washington,
then Thurston County, Oregon Territory.</p>

<p>&#8220;Vast have been the changes since that day.</p>

<p>&#8220;Looking back it does not seem so very long
ago and yet children born since that have grown
to maturity, married, and reared families.</p>

<p>&#8220;Many of those who came to Elliott Bay are
long since gone to their last home. Lee Terry has
been dead thirty-five years, Capt. Robert Fay,
twenty or more years, and J. N. Low over two
years, in fact most of the early settlers have
passed away: John Buckley and wife, Jacob
Maple, S. A. Maple, Wm. N. Bell and wife, C. C.
Terry and wife, A. Terry, L. M. Collins and wife,
Mrs. Kate Butler, E. Hanford, Mother Holgate,
John Holgate and many others. If they could
return to Seattle now they would not know the
place, and yet had it not been for various hindrances,
the Indian war, the opposition of the
N. P. R. R. and the great fire, Seattle would be
much larger than it now is, the country would
be much more developed and we would have a
larger rural population.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 217]</span>&#8220;However, from this time forward, I fully
believe the process of development will move
steadily on, especially do I believe that we are
just commencing the development of the mineral
resources of the country. Undoubtedly
there has been more prospecting for the precious
metals during 1891 than ever before all put together.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the Silver Creek region there has been,
probably, six hundred claims taken and from all
accounts the outlook is very favorable. Also
from Cle Elum and Swauk we have glowing accounts.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the Ptarmigan Park district about fifty
claims have been taken, a large amount of development
work done and some very fine samples
of ore taken out.&#8221;</p>

<p class="quotsig">(Signed) <span class="smcap">D. T. Denny.</span></p></blockquote>

<p>In the Seattle Daily Times of September
25th, 1901.</p>

<blockquote><p class="title">&#8220;JUST FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY.</p>

<p>&#8220;On September 25, 1851, Mr. D. T. Denny,
Now Living in This City, Was Greeted on the
Shores of Elliott Bay by Chief Seattle.</p>

<p>&#8220;Fifty years ago today, the first white settlers
set foot in King County.</p>

<p>&#8220;Fifty years ago today, a little band of pioneers
rounded Alki Point and grounded their
boat at West Seattle. Chief Seattle stalked majestically
down the beach and greeted them in his
characteristic way. During the ensuing week<span class="pagenum">[Pg 218]</span>
they were guests of a Western sachem, the king
of Puget Sound waters, and never were white
men more royally entertained.</p>

<p>&#8220;At that time Chief Seattle was at the height
of his popularity. With a band of five hundred
braves behind him, he stood in a position to command
the respect of all wandering tribes and
of the first few white men, whose heart-hungering
and restlessness had driven them from the
civilization of the East, across the plains of the
Middle West, to the shores of the Pacific.</p>

<p>&#8220;As Mr. Denny is essentially the premier of
this country, it would not be out of order to give
a glimpse of his early history. He is the true
type of pioneer. Although he is somewhat bent
with age, and his hair is white with the snows
of many winters, nevertheless, he still shows
signs of that ruggedness that was with him in
the early Western days of his youth. Not only
is he a pioneer, but he came from a family of
pioneers. Years and years ago his ancestors
crossed the Atlantic and landed on the Atlantic
coast. Not satisfied with the prevailing conditions
there, they began to push westward, settling
in what is now Pennsylvania. As the country
became opened up and settled, this Denny
family of hardy pioneers again turned their
faces to the westward sun, and this time Indiana
made them a home, and still later Illinois.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 219]</span></p>
<p class="title">THE START WESTWARD.</p>

<p>It was in the latter state that Mr. D. T.
Denny and his brother first began to hear stories
of the Willamette valley. Wonderful tales were
being carried across the plains of the fertility of
the land around the Columbia River and the
spirit of restlessness that had been characteristic
of their ancestors began to tell upon them, and
after reading all they could find of this practically
unknown wilderness, they bade farewell
to their Illinois friends, and started off across
the plains.</p>

<p>The start was made on the 10th day of April,
1851, from Knox County, Illinois. D. T. Denny
was accompanied by his older brother A. A. Denny,
and family. They drove two four-horse
teams, and a two-horse wagon, and ten days
after the start had been made they crossed the
Missouri River. The fourth of July, 1851, found
them at Fort Hall on Snake River, Montana, an
old Hudson Bay trading station. On the 11th
day of August, they reached The Dalles, Oregon,
and there, after a brief consultation, they decided
to separate.</p>

<p>Mr. A. A. Denny here shipped the wagons
and his family down the river on some small vessel
they were fortunate enough to find there,
while Mr. D. T. Denny took the horses and
pushed over the Cascade Mountains. He followed
what was then known as the old Barlow<span class="pagenum">[Pg 220]</span>
road and reached Portland on the 17th day of
August.</p>

<p>They decided to stay in Portland for a few
days, until they could learn more about the country
than they then knew, and it was in that city
that the subject of this sketch worked his first
day for money. He helped Thomas Carter unload
a brig that had reached port from Boston,
receiving the sum of three dollars for his labors,
and it was the &#8220;biggest three dollars he ever
earned in his life,&#8221; so he said.</p>

<p>While at Portland they began to hear stories
of Puget Sound, and after a brief consultation,
the Denny brothers and Mr. John N. Low, who
had also made the journey across the plains, decided
to investigate the country that now lies
around the Queen City of the West.</p>

<p class="title">OFF FOR ELLIOTT BAY.</p>

<p>As A. A. Denny had his family to look after,
it was decided that Mr. Low and D. T. Denny
would make the trip, and as a consequence, on
the 10th day of September they ferried Low&#8217;s
stock across the river to what was then Fort Vancouver.
From there they followed the Hudson
Bay trail to the Cowlitz River, and up the Cowlitz
to Ford&#8217;s Prairie. Leaving their stock there
for a short time, they pushed on to Olympia, now
the capital of the state.</p>

<p>When they reached Olympia they found
Capt. R. C. Fay and George M. Martin on the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 221]</span>
point of leaving down Sound to fish for salmon,
and Messrs. Low, Denny and Terry arranged to
come as far as the Duwamish River with them.
The start was made. There was no fluttering
of flags nor booming of cannon such as marked
the departure of Columbus when he left for a
new country, and in fact this little band of men,
in an open boat, little dreamed that they would
ultimately land within a stone&#8217;s throw of what
was destined to become one of the greatest cities
in the West.</p>

<p>Fifty years ago today they camped with
Chief Seattle on the promontory across the bay.
They slept that night under the protecting
branches of a cedar tree, and on the morning of
the 26th they hired two of Seattle&#8217;s braves to
paddle them up the river in a dugout canoe.
They spent that day in looking over the river
bottoms, where are now situated the towns of
Maple Prairie and Van Asselt. There were no
settlements there then, and nothing but giant
pines and firs greeted their gaze for miles. It
was a wonderful sight to these hardy Eastern
men, and as they wished to know something more
of the country, Messrs. Low and Terry decided
to leave the canoe and depart on a short tour
of exploration. One, two and three hours passed
and they failed to put in an appearance. In
vain did Mr. Denny fire his gun, and yell himself
hoarse, but he was compelled to spend the night
in the wilderness with the two Indians.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 222]</span></p>
<p class="title">DECIDED TO LOCATE.</p>

<p>The next day, however, or to be explicit,
on the 27th of September, he was gratified at
the appearance of his friends on the river bank.
They had become lost the night before, and
falling in with a band of Indians, had spent the
night with them. Having seen enough of the
country to become convinced that it was the
place for them, they returned to what is now
West Seattle for the night. After the sun had
disappeared behind the Olympics, they heard a
scow passing the point, which afterwards they
found contained L. M. Collins and family, who
had pushed on up the river and settled on the
banks of the Duwamish.</p>

<p>On the morning of the 28th they decided to
take up claims back of Alki point, and on that
day started to lay the foundation of the first
cabin in King county. Having decided to settle
on Elliott bay, Mr. Low determined to return
to Portland for his family, whereupon Mr. Denny
wrote the following letter to his brother and
sent it with him:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;We have examined the valley of the Duwamish
river and find it a fine country. There
is plenty of room for one thousand settlers.
Come on at once.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>By the time Mr. Low had reached Portland,
William Bell and C. D. Boren had also become
interested in the Puget Sound district, and therefore
Messrs. Low, Denny, Bell and Boren, with<span class="pagenum">[Pg 223]</span>
their families, hired a schooner to take them
down the Columbia, up on the outside, in through
the Strait, and up the Sound to Alki, reaching
the latter point on the 13th of November, 1851.</p>

<p>In speaking of those early pioneer days, Mr.
Denny said:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;We built up quite a settlement over on
Alki, and the Indians of course came and settled
around us. No, we were not molested to any
great extent. I remember that on one night,
our women folks missed a lot of clothing they
had hung out to dry, and I at once went to their
big chief and told him what had happened. In
a very short time not only were the missing
articles returned to us, but a lot that we didn&#8217;t
know were gone.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">WHISKY CAUSED TROUBLE.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;In those early days, in all my experience
with Indians, I have always found them peaceable
enough as long as they left whisky alone.
Of course we had trouble with them, but it was
always due to the introduction of the white
man&#8217;s firewater, which has been more than a
curse to the red man.</p>

<p>&#8220;When we reached here, the Indians were
more advanced than one would have naturally
supposed. We were able to buy berries, fish and
game of them, and potatoes also. Great fine
tubers they were too, much better than any we
had ever been able to raise back in Illinois. In
fact I don&#8217;t know what we would have done<span class="pagenum">[Pg 224]</span>
during the first two winters had it not been for
the Indians.</p>

<p>&#8220;But talk about game,&#8221; he continued, a
glow coming to his face as the old scenes were
brought up to him, &#8220;why, I have seen the waters
of Elliott Bay fairly black with ducks. Deer
and bear were plentiful then and this was a
perfect paradise for the man with a rod or gun.
Never, I am sure, was there a country in which
it was so easy to live as it was in the Puget
Sound district fifty years ago.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;In coming across the plains, Mr. Denny,
were you attacked by Indians, or have any adventures
out of the ordinary?&#8221; was asked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said he meditatively, &#8220;we did have
one little brush that might have ended with the
loss of all our lives. It was just after leaving
Fort Hall, in Montana. We had come up to
what I think was called the American Falls.
While quite a distance away we noticed the water
just below the falls was black, with what we
supposed were ducks, but as we drew nearer we
saw they were Indians swimming across with one
hand and holding their guns high in the air with
the other. We turned off slightly and started
down the trail at a rattling rate. We had not
gone far when a big chief stepped up on the
bank. He was dressed mainly in a tall plug
hat and a gun, and he shouted, &#8216;How do, how
do, stop, stop!&#8217; Well, we didn&#8217;t, and after re<span class="pagenum">[Pg 225]</span>peating
his question he dropped behind the sage
brush and opened fire.</p>

<p>&#8220;My brother lay in my wagon sick with
mountain fever, and that, of course, materially
reduced our fighting force. Had they succeeded
in shooting down one of our horses, it would, of
course, have been the end of us, but fortunately
they did not and we at last escaped them. No,
no one was wounded, but it was the worst scrape
I ever had with the Indians, and I hope I will
never have to go through a similar experience
again. It isn&#8217;t pleasant to be shot at, even by
an Indian.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">RECOGNIZED THE SPOT.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;In 1892,&#8221; said Mr. Denny, &#8220;I went East
over the Great Northern. I was thinking of my
first experience in Montana when I reached that
state, when all of a sudden we rounded a curve
and passed below the falls. I knew them in a
minute, and instantly those old scenes and trying
times came back to me in a way that was
altogether too realistic for comfort. No, I have
not been back since.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Prosch, Mr. Ward and myself,&#8221; continued
this old pioneer, &#8220;had intended to take
our families over to Alki today and hold a sort
of a picnic in honor of what happened fifty years
ago, but of course my sickness has prevented us
from doing so. I don&#8217;t suppose we will be here
to celebrate the event at the end of another fifty
years, and I should have liked to have gone to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 226]</span>day.
Instead, I suppose I shall sit here and
think of what I saw and heard at Alki Point
just fifty years ago. I can live it over again, in
memories at least.</p>

<p>&#8220;Now, young man,&#8221; concluded Mr. Denny,
not unkindly, &#8220;please get the names of those
early pioneers and the dates right. A Seattle
paper published a bit of this history a few days
ago, and they got everything all mixed up. This
is the story, and should be written right, because
if it isn&#8217;t, the story becomes valueless. I dislike
very much to have the stories and events of those
early days misstated and misrepresented.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>In 1899, Mr. Denny had the arduous task
of personally superintending the improvement
of the old Snoqualmie road around the shore of
Lake Kichelas and on for miles through the
mountains, building and repairing bridges, making
corduroy, blasting out rocks, changing the
route at times; after much patient effort and
endurance of discomfort and hardship, he left
it much improved, for which many a weary way-farer
would be grateful did they but know. In
value the work was far beyond the remuneration
he received.</p>

<p>During the time he was so occupied he had
a narrow escape from death by an accident, the
glancing of a double-bitted ax in the hands of a
too energetic workman; it struck him between
the eyes, inflicting a wound which bled alarmingly,
but finally was successfully closed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 227]</span>The next year he camped at Lake Kichelas
in the interests of a mining company, and incidentally
enjoyed some fishing and prospecting.
It was the last time he visited the mountains.</p>

<p>Gradually some maladies which had haunted
him for years increased. As long as he could
he exerted himself in helping his family, especially
in preparing the site for a new home. He
soon after became a great sufferer for several
years, struggling against his infirmities, in all
exhibiting great fortitude and patience.</p>

<p>His mind was clear to the last and he was
able to converse, to read and to give sound and
admirable advice and opinions.</p>

<p>Almost to the last day of his life he took
interest in the progress of the nation and of the
world, following the great movements with absorbing
interest.</p>

<p>He expressed a desire to see his friends
earnest Christians, his own willingness to leave
earthly scenes and his faith in Jesus.</p>

<p>So he lived and thus he died, passing away
on the morning of November 25th, 1903, in the
seventy-second year of his age.</p>

<p>He was a great pioneer, a mighty force,
commercial, moral and religious, in the foundation-building
of the Northwest.</p>

<p>In a set of resolutions presented by the
Pioneer Association of the State of Washington
occur these words: &#8220;The record of no citizen
was ever marked more distinctly by acts of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 228]</span>
probity, integrity and general worth than that
of Mr. D. T. Denny, endearing him to all the
people and causing them to regard him with the
utmost esteem and favor.&#8221;</p>

<p>On the morning of November 26th, 1903,
there appeared in the Post-Intelligencer, the
following:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;David Thomas Denny, who came to the
site of Seattle in 1851, the first of his name on
Puget Sound, died at his home, a mile north
of Green Lake, at 3:36 yesterday morning. All
the members of his family, including John
Denny, who arrived the day before from Alaska,
were at the bedside. Until half an hour before
he passed away Mr. Denny was conscious, and
engaged those about him in conversation.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">MARRIED IN A CABIN.</p>

<p>The story of the early life of the Denny
brothers tallies very nearly with the history of
Seattle. Mr. and Mrs. David Denny were married
in a cabin on the north end of A. A. Denny&#8217;s
claim near the foot of Lenora street, January
23, 1853. The next morning the couple moved
to their own cabin&mdash;built by the husband&#8217;s hands&mdash;at
the foot of what is now Denny Way. The
moving was accomplished in a canoe.</p>

<p>Though they professed a great respect for
David Denny, the Indians were numerous and
never very reliable. In a year or two, therefore,
the family moved up nearer the sawmill and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 229]</span>
little settlement which had grown up near the
foot of Cherry street. D. T. Denny had meanwhile
staked out a very large portion of what
is now North Seattle&mdash;a plat of three hundred
and twenty acres. Later he made seven additions
to the city of Seattle from this claim. In
1857 it was a wilderness of thick brush, but the
pioneer moved his family to his farm on the
present site of Recreation park in that year.
The Indian war had occurred the winter before
and the red men were quiet, having received a
lesson from the blue jackets which were landed
from the United States gunboat Decatur.</p>

<p>Three or four years later the family moved
to a cottage at the corner of Second avenue and
Seneca street. In the early &#8217;70s they moved to
the large home at the corner of Dexter and Republican
streets, where the children grew up.
In 1890 the family took possession of the large
house standing on Queen Anne avenue, known
as the Denny home, which was occupied by the
family until a few years ago, when they moved
to Fremont and later to the house where Mr.
Denny died, in Licton Park, some distance
north of Green Lake.</p>

<p>Until about ten years ago David T. Denny
was considered the wealthiest man in Seattle.
His large property in the north end of the city
had been the source of more and more revenue
as the town grew. When the needs of the town
became those of a big city he hastened to supply<span class="pagenum">[Pg 230]</span>
them with energy and money. His mill on the
shores of Lake Union was the largest in the
city, when Seattle was first known as a milling
town. The establishment of an electric light
plant and a water supply to a part of the city
were among the enterprises which he headed.</p>

<p>The cable and horse car roads were consolidated
into a company headed by D. T. Denny
more than a decade ago. In the effort to supply
the company with the necessary funds Mr. Denny
attempted to convert much of his property
into cash. At that time an estimate of his resources
was made by a close personal friend,
who yesterday said that the amount was considerably
over three million dollars, which included
his valuable stock in the traction companies.
In the hard times of &#8217;93 Mr. Denny was
unable to realize the apparent value of his property,
and a considerable reduction of his fortune
was a result. Since then he has been to a great
extent engaged in mining in the Cascade mountains,
and for the past three years has been
closely confined to his home by a serious illness.</p>

<p>Among the gifts of D. T. Denny to the city
of Seattle is Denny Park. Denny Way, the
Denny school and other public places in Seattle
bear his name. D. T. Denny was a liberal Republican
always. He was at one time a member
of the board of regents of the territorial university,
the first treasurer of King county, probate
judge for two years and for twelve years a school<span class="pagenum">[Pg 231]</span>
director of District No. 1, comprising the city
of Seattle.</p>

<p>Several of those who were associated with
David T. Denny during the time when he was
in active business and a strong factor in local
affairs have offered estimates of his character
and of the part he took in the founding and
building of the city. Said Col. William T.
Prosser:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;It is sad to think that David T. Denny
will no more be seen upon the streets of the city
he assisted in founding more than fifty years
ago. During all that time he was closely identified
with its varying periods of danger, delayed
hopes and bitter disappointments, as well as
those of marvelous growth, activity and prosperity.
The changing features of the city were
reflected in his own personal history. The waves
of prosperity and adversity both swept over him,
yet throughout his entire career he always maintained
his integrity and through it all he bore
himself as an energetic and patriotic citizen and
as a Christian gentleman.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Judge Thomas Burke:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;D. T. Denny had great faith in Seattle,
and his salient characteristic was his readiness
in pushing forward its welfare. I remember
him having an irreproachable character&mdash;honest,
just in all his dealings and strong in his spirit.
In illustration of his strong feeling on the temperance
question I remember that he embodied<span class="pagenum">[Pg 232]</span>
a clause in the early deeds of the property which
he sold to the effect that no intoxicating liquors
were to be sold upon the premises. Yes, he was
a good citizen.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Charles A. Prosch:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Although Mr. Denny&#8217;s later years were
clouded by financial troubles, reverses did not
soil his spirit nor change his integrity. He was
progressive to the last and one of the most upright
men I know.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>D. B. Ward:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;I first met David Denny in 1859 and I
have known him more or less intimately ever
since. I know him to have possessed strict integrity,
unswerving purpose and cordial hospitality.
My first dinner in Seattle was eaten at
his home&mdash;where a baked salmon fresh from
the Sound was an oddity to me. His financial
troubles some years ago grew out of his undaunted
public spirit. He was president of the first
consolidated street car system here, and in his
efforts to support it most of his property was
confiscated. I knew him for a strong, able
man.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Judge Orange Jacobs:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Mr. Denny was a quiet man, but he carried
the stamp of truth. He was extremely generous,
and as I remember, he possessed a fine
mind. In his death I feel a personal, poignant
grief.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Rev. W. S. Harrington:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 233]</span></p>
<blockquote><p>&#8220;D. T. Denny was a man of much more than
average ability. He thought much and deeply
on all questions which affected the welfare of
man. He was retiring and his strength was
known to few. But his integrity was thorough
and transparent and his purpose inflexible.
Even though he suffered, his spirit was never
bitter toward his fellows, and his benefactions
were numerous. Above all, he was a Christian
and believed in a religion which he sought to
live, not to exhibit. His long illness was borne
with a patience and a sweetness which commanded
my deep respect and admiration.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Samuel L. Crawford:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;A man with the courage to fight for his
convictions of right and with a marvelous capacity
for honest work&mdash;such is the splendid heritage
David T. Denny has left to his sorrowing
family. When but 19 years of age he walked
from the Columbia river to Puget Sound, driving
a small band of stock ahead of him through
the brush.</p>

<p>"No sooner had his party settled and the log
cabin been completed than David commenced
looking for more work, and, like all others who
seek diligently, he was successful, for early in
December of that year the brig Leonesa, Capt.
Daniel S. Howard, stopped at Alki Point, seeking
a cargo of piling for San Francisco. David
T. Denny, William N. Bell, C. D. Boren, C. C.
Terry, J. N. Low, A. A. Denny and Lee Terry<span class="pagenum">[Pg 234]</span>
took the contract of cutting the piling and loading
the vessel, which they accomplished in about
two weeks, a remarkably short time, when the
weather and the lack of teams and other facilities
are taken into consideration.</p>

<p>&#8220;Other vessels came for cargo and Mr.
Denny became an expert woodsman, helping to
supply them with piling from the shores. In
1852 Mr. Denny, in company with his brother
Arthur and some others, came over to Elliott Bay
and laid the foundation of Seattle, the great city
of the future. Mr. Denny, being a bachelor, took
the most northerly claim, adjoining that of W.
N. Bell, and built a cabin near the shore, at the
foot of what is now Denny Way. The Indians
being troublesome, he moved into a small house
beside that of his brother on the site of the present
Stevens Hotel.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the meantime he married a sister of C.
D. Boren, and a small family commenced to
spring up around him, thus requiring larger
quarters. In 1871 Mr. Denny built a large frame
house on the southwest shore of Lake Union, on
a beautiful knoll. He cleared up a large portion
of his claim, and for many years engaged in
farming and stock-raising. He afterward built
a palatial home on his property at the foot of
Queen Anne Hill, midway between Lake Union
and the Sound, but this he occupied only a short
time. In 1852, in company with his brother
Arthur, Mr. Denny discovered Salmon Bay.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 235]</span>&#8220;Mr. Denny was a just man and always
dealt fairly with the Indians. For this reason
the Indians learned to love and respect him, and
for many years they have gone to him to settle
their disputes and help them out of their difficulties
with the whites and among themselves.</p>

<p>&#8220;As Seattle grew, David Denny platted
much of his claim and sold it off in town lots.
He built the Western mill at the south end of
Lake Union and engaged extensively in the
building and promotion of street railways. He
had too many irons in the fire, and when the
panic came in 1892-3 it crippled him financially,
but he gave up his property, the accumulation of
a lifetime of struggle and work, to satisfy his
creditors, and went manfully to work in the
mountains of Washington to regain his lost fortune.
His heroic efforts were rapidly being
crowned with success, as he is known to have
secured a number of mines of great promise, on
which he has done a large amount of development
work during the past few years.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the death of David T. Denny, Seattle
loses an upright, generous worker, who has always
contributed of his brain, brawn and cash
for the upbuilding of the city of which he was
one of the most important founders.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">DEXTER HORTON&#8217;S TRIBUTE.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 236]</span></p><blockquote><p>&#8220;&#8216;I have known Mr. Denny for fifty years.
A mighty tree has fallen. He was one of the best
men, of highest character and principle, this city
ever claimed as a citizen. That is enough.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;By Father F. X. Prefontaine, of the
Church of Our Lady of Good Help: &#8216;I have
known Mr. Denny about thirty-six or thirty-seven
years. I always liked him, though I was
more intimately acquainted with his brother,
Hon. A. A. Denny, and his venerable father,
John Denny. His father in his time impressed
me as a fine gentleman, a great American. He
was a man who was always called upon at public
meetings for a speech and he was a deeply
earnest man, so much so that tears often showed
in his eyes while he was addressing the people.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Hon. Boyd J. Tallman, judge of the Superior
Court: &#8216;I have only known Mr. Denny
since 1889, and I always entertained the highest
regard for him. He was a man of firm conviction
and principle and was always ready to uphold
them. Though coming here to help found
the town, he was always ready to advocate and
stand for the principle of prohibition and temperance
on all occasions. While there were
many who could not agree with him in these
things, every manly man felt bound to accord
to Mr. Denny honesty of purpose and respect for
the sincerity of his opinion. I believe that in
his death a good man has gone and this community
has suffered a great loss.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 237]</span></p>
<p class="title">C. B. BAGLEY TALKS.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Clarence B. Bagley, who as a boy and
man has known Mr. Denny for almost the full
number of years the latter lived at Seattle, was
visibly overcome at the news of his death. Mr.
Bagley would gladly have submitted a more extended
estimate than he did of Mr. Denny&#8217;s life
and character, but he was just hurrying into
court to take his place as a juryman.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Denny was one of the best men Seattle
ever had. He was a liberal man, ever ready
to embark his means in enterprises calculated to
upbuild and aid in the progress of Seattle. He
was a man of strong convictions, strong almost
to obstinacy in upholding and maintaining
cherished principles he fully believed.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Denny suffered reverses through his
willingness to establish enterprises for the good
of the whole city. He built the Western Mill at
Lake Union when the location was away in the
woods, and eventually lost a great deal of money
in it during the duller periods of the city&#8217;s life.
He also lost a great deal of money in giving this
city a modern street railway system. His character
as an honorable man and Christian always
stood out boldly, his integrity of purpose never
questioned.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Lawrence J. Colman, son of J. M. Colman,
the pioneer, said: &#8216;Our family has known Mr.
Denny for thirty-one years, ever since coming to
Seattle. We regarded him as an absolutely up<span class="pagenum">[Pg 238]</span>right,
conscientious and Christian man, notwithstanding
the reverses that came to him, in whom
our confidence was supreme, and one who did
not require his character to be upheld, for it
shone brightly at all times by its own lustre.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">SAMUEL COOMBS TALKS.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;S. F. Coombs, the well-known pioneer, had
known Mr. Denny since 1859, about forty-five
years. &#8216;It was to Mr. Denny,&#8217; said Mr. Coombs,
&#8216;that the Indians who lived here and knew him
always went for advice and comfort and to have
their disputes settled. Their high estimate of
the man was shown in many ways, where the
whites were under consideration. Mr. Denny
was a man whom I always admired and greatly
respected. He afforded me much information
of the resident Indians here and around Salmon
Bay, as he was intimately acquainted with them
all.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;At one time Mr. Denny was reckoned as
Seattle&#8217;s wealthiest citizen. When acting as
deputy assessor for Andrew Chilberg, the city
lying north of Mill Street, now Yesler Way, was
my district to assess. Denny&#8217;s holdings, D. T.
Denny&#8217;s plats, had the year previous been assessed
by the acre. The law was explicit, and to
have made up the assessment by the acre would
have been illegal. Mr. Denny&#8217;s assessed value
the year before was fifty thousand dollars. The
best I could do was to make the assessment by<span class="pagenum">[Pg 239]</span>
the lot and block. For the year I assessed two
hundred and fifty thousand. Recourse was had
to the county commissioners, but the assessment
remained about the same. Just before his purchase
of the Seattle street car system he was the
wealthiest man in King County, worth more than
five hundred thousand dollars.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Of Mr. Denny it may be said that if
others had applied the Golden Rule as he did, he
would have been living in his old home in great
comfort in this city today.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">LIFE OF DAVID DENNY.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Fifty-two years and two months ago David
Thomas Denny came to Seattle, to the spot where
Seattle now stands enthroned upon her seven
hills. Mr. Denny, the last but one of the little
band of pioneers&mdash;some half dozen men first to
make this spot their home&mdash;has been gathered to
his fathers; &#8216;has wrapped the mantle of his
shroud about him and laid down to pleasant
dreams.&#8217; Gone is a man and citizen who perhaps
loved Seattle best of all those who ever
made Seattle their home. This is attested by the
fact that from the time that Mr. Denny first came
to Elliott Bay it has been his constant home.
Never but once or twice during that long period
of time did he go far away, and then for but a
very short time. Once he went as far away as
New York&mdash;and that proved a sad trip&mdash;and
once, in recent years, to California. Both trips<span class="pagenum">[Pg 240]</span>
were comparatively brief, and he who first conquered
the primeval forest that crowned the
hills around returned home full of intense longing
to get back and full of love for the old home.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny lived a rugged, honorable, upright
life&mdash;the life of a patriarch. He bore patiently
a long period of intense suffering manfully
and without murmur, and when the end
approached he calmly awaited the summons and
died as if falling away into a quiet sleep. So he
lived, so he died.</p>

<p>&#8220;Few indeed who can comprehend the extent
of his devotion to Seattle. Living in Seattle
for the last two years, yet for that period he
never looked once upon the city which he helped
to build. About that long ago he moved from his
home which he had maintained for some years at
Fremont, to the place where he died, Licton
Springs, about a mile north of Green Lake. Said
Mr. Denny as he went from the door of the old
home he was giving up for the new: &#8216;This will
be the last time I will ever look upon Seattle,&#8217;
and Mr. Denny&#8217;s words were true. He never was
able to leave again the little sylvan home his family&mdash;his
wife, sister and children&mdash;had raised
for him in the woods. There, dearly loved, he
was watched over and cared for by the children
and by the wife who had shared with him for two-score-and-ten
years the joys and sorrows, the
ups and downs that characterized his life in a
more marked degree than was the experience of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 241]</span>
any other of the pioneers who first reached this
rugged bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny was once, not so very long ago,
a wealthy man&mdash;some say the wealthiest in the
city&mdash;but he died poor, very poor; but he paid
his debts to the full. Once the owner in fee simple
of land upon which are now a thousand beautiful
Seattle homes, he passed on to his account
a stranger in a strange land, and without title to
his own domicile. When the crisis and the crash
came that wrecked his fortune he went stoutly
to work, and if he ever repined it was not known
outside of the family and small circle of chosen
friends. That was about fourteen years ago, and
up to two years ago Mr. Denny toiled in an humble
way, perhaps never expecting, never hoping
to regain his lost fortune. Those last years of
labor were spent, for the most part, at the Denny
Mine on Gold Creek, a mine, too, in which he had
no direct interest or ownership, or in directing
work upon the Snoqualmie Pass road. He came
down from the hills to his sick bed and to his
death.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny&#8217;s life for half a century is the
history of the town. Without the Dennys there
might have been no Seattle. Of all the band that
came here in the fall of 1851, they seemed to have
taken deepest root and to have left the stamp of
their name and individuality which is keen and
patent to this day.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p><a id="X" name="X"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;">
<img src="images/opp241.jpg" width="345" height="600" alt="" title="SONS OF D. T. AND LOUISA DENNY" />
<span class="caption">SONS OF D. T. AND LOUISA DENNY<br />
Victor W. S. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; D. Thomas &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; John B.</span>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 242]</span></p>
<p class="title">CAME FROM ILLINOIS.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The Dennys came from Illinois, from some
place near Springfield, and crossing Iowa, rendezvoused
at what was then Kanesville, now
Council Bluffs. They came by way of Fort Hall
and the South Pass, along the south side of the
Snake River, where, at or near American Falls,
they had their first and only brush with the Indians.
There was only desultory firing and no
one was injured. The party reached The Dalles
August 11, 1851. The party separated there,
Low, Boren and A. A. Denny going by river to
Portland, arriving August 22. In September,
Low and D. T. Denny drove a herd of cattle,
those that drew them across the plains, to Chehalis
River to get them to a good winter range.
These men came on to the Sound and here they
arrived before the end of that month. After
looking around some, Low went away, having
hired Mr. Denny, who was an unmarried man,
to stay behind and build Low a cabin. This was
done and on September 28th, 1851, the foundation
of this first cabin was laid close to the beach
at Alki Point.</p>

<p>&#8220;A. A. Denny, Low, Boren, Bell and C. C.
Terry arrived at Alki Point, joining D. T. Denny.
That made a happy little family, twenty-four
persons, twelve men and women, twelve children
and one cabin. In this they all resided until
the men could erect a second log cabin. By
this time the immediate vicinity of the point had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page243" name="page243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
been stripped of its building logs and the men
had to go back and split shakes and carry them
out of the woods on their backs. With these they
erected two &#8216;shake&#8217; or split cedar houses that,
with the two log cabins, provided fair room for
the twenty-four people.</p>

<p>&#8220;During that winter the men cut and loaded
a small brig with piles for San Francisco. The
piles were cut near the water and rolled and
dragged by hand to where they would float to the
vessel&#8217;s side. There were no oxen in the country
at that time and the first team that came to Elliott
Bay was driven along the beach at low tide from
up near Tacoma.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">SURROUNDED BY INDIANS.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The first winter spent at Alki Point the
settlers were almost constantly surrounded with
one thousand Indians armed with old Hudson
Bay Company&#8217;s muskets. This company maintained
one of its posts at Nisqually, Pierce County,
and traded flintlocks and blankets with the
Indians all over Western Washington, taking in
trade their furs and skins. The Indians from
far and near hearing of the settlement of whites
came and camped on the beach nearly the whole
winter.</p>

<p>&#8220;In addition to the Indians of this bay the
Muckleshoots, Green Rivers, Snoqualmies, Tulalips,
Port Madisons and likely numerous other
bands were on hand. At one time the Muckle<span class="pagenum">[Pg 244]</span>shoots
and Snoqualmies lined up in front of the
little cluster of whites and came near engaging
in a battle, having become enraged at one another.
The whites acted as peacemakers and no
blood was spilled.</p>

<p>&#8220;In those days the government gave what was
known as donation claims, one hundred sixty
acres to a man, and an equal amount to the women.
In the spring of 1852 the Dennys, Bell and
Boren, came over to this side and took donation
claims. Boren located first on the south, his line
being at about the line of Jackson Street. A. A.
Denny came next and Bell third. Shortly after
D. T. Denny located, taking a strip of ground
from the bay back to Lake Union and bounded
by lines north and south which tally about with
Denny Way on the south and Mercer Street on
the north. Later Mr. Denny bought the eastern
shore of Lake Union, extending from the lake to
the portage between Union and Washington.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny&#8217;s first house on this side of the
bay, built presumably in the spring of 1852, was
located on the beach at the foot of what is now
Denny Way in North Seattle. This was a one-story
log cabin. It was on the bluff overlooking
the bay and the woods hemmed it in, and it was
only by cutting and slashing that one could open
a way back into the forest.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">MR. DENNY&#8217;S FARM.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Some time later Mr. Denny begun his original
clearing for a farm at what is now the vi<span class="pagenum">[Pg 245]</span>cinity
of Third Avenue North and Republican
Street, and also in the early years of residence
here&mdash;about 1860 or 1861&mdash;built a home on the
site of what is now occupied by modern business
houses at Second Avenue and Seneca Street.</p>

<p>&#8220;It seems to have been Mr. Denny&#8217;s plan to
work out on his farm at Third Avenue and Republican
Street during the dry summer season
and to reside down in the settlement in the winter.
The farm at Third Avenue and Republican
Street grew apace until in after years it became
the notable spot in all the district of what
is now North Seattle. After the arrival on the
coast of the Chinaman it was leased to them for
a number of years, and became widely known as
the China gardens. Mr. Denny does not seem
to have planted orchard to any extent here, but at
Second and Seneca he had quite an orchard.
Forming what later became a part of the original
D. T. Denny farm was a large tract of open, boggy
land running well through the center of Mr.
Denny&#8217;s claim from about Third Avenue down
to Lake Union. This was overgrown largely with
willow and swamp shrubs. In ancient times it
was either a lake or beaver marsh, and long after
the whites came, ducks frequented the place. The
house built at Second Avenue and Seneca Street
by Mr. Denny was a small one-story structure of
three or four rooms.</p>

<p>&#8220;In 1871 Mr. Denny built another homestead
of the D. T. Denny family at this place. It<span class="pagenum">[Pg 246]</span>
was, after its completion, one of the most commodious
and important houses in the city. This
house was built overlooking Lake Union, instead
of the bay. The site selected was on what is now
Dexter Avenue and Republican Street. This
house still stands, a twelve or fourteen-room
house, surrounded by orchard and grounds.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">BUILT A NEW HOME.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Mr. Denny lived at the Lake Union home
until just after the big fire here in 1889, when he
began the erection and completed a fine mansion
on Queen Anne Avenue, with fine grounds, but
he did not long have the pleasure of residing
here. The unfortunate business enterprises in
which he soon found himself engulfed, swept
away his vast wealth, and &#8216;Honest Dave,&#8217; as he
had become familiarly to be known, was left
without a place wherein to rest his head.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>These tributes also recite something of the
story of his life:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;He was one of the original locators of donation
claims on Elliott Bay, within the present
limits of Seattle. The two Dennys, David
and his brother, Arthur, now deceased; Dr. Maynard,
Carson D. Boren and W. N. Bell, were the
first locators of the land upon which the main
portion of Seattle now rests. All of them, save
Boren, have passed away, and Boren has not
lived in Seattle for many years; so it may be said
that David Denny was the last of the Seattle pio<span class="pagenum">[Pg 247]</span>neers.
Of his seventy-one years of life, fifty-two
were passed on Puget Sound and fifty-one in
the City of Seattle, in the upbuilding of which
he bore a prominent part.</p>

<p>&#8220;With his original donation claim and lands
subsequently acquired, Mr. Denny was for many
years the heaviest property owner in actual acreage
in Seattle. Most of his holdings had passed
into the hands of others before his death. In his
efforts to build up the city he engaged in the promotion
of many large enterprises, and was carrying
large liabilities, although well within the
limit of his financial ability, when the panic of
ten years ago rendered it impossible to realize
upon any property of any value, and left equities
in real property covered even by light mortgages,
absolutely valueless. In that disastrous period
he, among all Seattle&#8217;s citizens, was stricken the
hardest blow, but he never lost the hope or the
energy of the born pioneer, nor faith in the destinies
of the city which he had helped to found.
His name remains permanently affixed to many
of the monuments of Seattle, and he will pass into
history as one of the men who laid the foundations
of one of the great cities of the world, and
who did much in erecting the superstructure.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the enthusiasms of early life the ambitious
men and women of America turn their
faces toward &#8216;the setting sun&#8217; and bravely assume
the task of building homes in uninhabited
places and transforming the wilderness into pros<span class="pagenum">[Pg 248]</span>perous
communities. Those who undertake such
work are to be listed among God&#8217;s noblemen&mdash;for
without such men little progress would be made
in the development of any country.</p>

<p>&#8220;For more than a hundred years one of the
interesting features of life in the United States
is that connected with pioneering. The men and
women of energy are usually possessed with an
adventurous spirit which chafes under the fixed
customs and inflexible conservatism of the older
communities, and longs to take a hand in crowding
the frontier toward the Pacific.</p>

<p>&#8220;The poet has said that only the brave start
out West and only the strong success in getting
there. Thus it is that those, who, more than a
half century ago, elected to cross the American
continent were from the bravest of the eastern or
middle portion of the United States. Many who
started turned back; others died by the wayside.
Only the &#8216;strong&#8217; reached their destination.</p>

<p>&#8220;Of this class was the small party which
landed at Alki Point in the late summer of 1851
and began the task of building up a civilization
where grew the gigantic forests and where
roamed the dusky savage. Of that number was
David T. Denny, the last survivor but one, C. D.
Boren, of the seven men who composed the first
white man&#8217;s party to camp on the shores of Elliott
Bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;It requires some stretch of the imagination
to view the surroundings that enveloped that<span class="pagenum">[Pg 249]</span>
band of hardy pioneers and to comprehend the
magnitude of the task that towered before them.
It was no place for the weak or faint-hearted.
There was work to do&mdash;and no one shirked.</p>

<p>&#8220;Since then more than fifty years have come
and gone, and from the humble beginnings made
by David T. Denny and the others has grown a
community that is the metropolis of the Pacific
Northwest and which, a few years hence, will be
the metropolis of the entire Pacific Coast. That
this has been the product of these initial efforts
is due in a large measure to the energy, the example,
the business integrity and public spirit
of him whose demise is now mourned as that of
the last but one of the male survivors of that little
party of pioneers of 1851.</p>

<p>&#8220;The history of any community can be told
in the biographies of a few of the leading men
connected with its affairs. The history of Seattle
can be told by writing a complete biography of
David T. Denny. He was among the first to recognize
that here was an eligible site for a great
city. He located a piece of land with this object
in view and steadfastly he clung to his purpose.
When a public enterprise was to be planned that
would redound to the growth and prestige of Seattle
he was at the front, pledging his credit and
contributing of his means.</p>

<p>&#8220;Then came a time in the growth of cities on
the Pacific Coast when the spirit of speculation
appeared to drive men mad. Great schemes were<span class="pagenum">[Pg 250]</span>
laid and great enterprises planned. Some of
them were substantial; some of them were not.
With a disposition to do anything honorable that
would contribute to the glory of Seattle, David
T. Denny threw himself into the maelstrom with
all of his earthly possessions and took chances
of increasing his already handsome fortune.
Then came the panic of 1893 and Mr. Denny was
among many other Seattle men who emerged
from the cataclysm without a dollar.</p>

<p>&#8220;Subsequent years made successful the enterprise
that proved the financial ruin of so many
of Seattle&#8217;s wealthy, but it was too late for those
who had borne the brunt of the battle. Others
came in to reap where the pioneers had sown and
the latter were too far along in years to again
take up the struggle of accumulating a competence.
His declining years were passed in the
circle of loving friends who never failed to speak
of him as the personification of honesty and integrity
and one whose noble traits of character
in this respect were worthy of all emulation.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The following is an epitaph written for his
tomb:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;David Thomas Denny, Born March 17th,
1832, Died Nov. 25th, 1903. The first of the name
to reach Puget Sound, landing at Duwampsh
Head, Sept. 25th, 1851. A great pioneer from
whose active and worthy life succeeding generations
will reap countless benefits.&#8221;</p>

<p>&#8220;He giveth his beloved sleep.&#8221;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 251]</span></p></blockquote>

<p>The early days of the State, or rather, Territory,
of Washington produced a distinct type
of great men, one of whom was David Thomas
Denny.</p>

<p>Had Washington a poet to tell of the achievements
of her heroic founders and builders a considerable
epic would be devoted to the remarkable
career and character of this noble man.</p>

<p>At the risk of repetition I append this slight
recapitulation:</p>

<p>The first of the name to set foot on Puget
Sound, <i>Oregon Territory</i>, September 25th, 1851,
he then evinced the characteristics more fully developed
in after years.</p>

<p>He had crossed the plains and then from
Portland proceeded to Puget Sound by the old
Hudson Bay trail. He landed at Duwampsh
Head where now is West Seattle, and there met
and shook hands with Chief Sealth, or old Seattle
as the whites called him. He helped to build
the first cabin home at Alki Point. He alone was
the Committee of Reception when the notable
party landed from the &#8220;Exact.&#8221; He ran the
race of the bravest of the brave pioneers.</p>

<p>Beginning at the very bottom of the ladder,
he worked with his hands, as did the others, at
every sort of work to be found in a country entirely
unimproved.</p>

<p>A ready axman, a very Nimrod, a natural
linguist, he began the attack on the mighty for<span class="pagenum">[Pg 252]</span>est,
he slew wild animals and birds for food, he
made friends with the native tribes.</p>

<p>He builded, planted, harvested, helped to
found schools, churches, government and civilized
society. Always and everywhere he embodied
and upheld scriptural morality and temperance.</p>

<p>Many now living could testify to his untiring
service to the stranded newcomers. Employment,
money, credit, hospitality, time, advice, he
gave freely to help and encourage the settlers following
the pioneers.</p>

<p>He was Probate Judge, County Treasurer,
City Councilman, Regent of the University,
School Director for twelve years, etc., etc. He
administered a number of estates with extreme
care and faithfulness.</p>

<p>David T. Denny early realized that Seattle
was a strategic site for a great city and by thrifty
investments in wild land prepared for settlements
sure to come.</p>

<p>After long years of patient toil, upright
dealing and wise management, he began to accumulate
until his property was worth a fortune.</p>

<p>With increasing wealth his generosity increased
and he gave liberally to carry on all the
institutions of a civilized community.</p>

<p>David T. Denny gave &#8220;Denny Park&#8221; to the
City of Seattle.</p>

<p>Denny school was named for him, as is perfectly
well known to many persons.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 253]</span>As prosperity increased he became more active
in building the city and lavished energy, toil,
property and money, installing public enterprises
and utilities, such as water supply, electric
lights, a large sawmill, banks, street railways,
laying off additions to the city, grading and
improvements, etc., etc.</p>

<p>Then came 1893, the black year of trade.
Thousands lost all they possessed. David T.
Denny suffered a martyrdom of disappointment,
humiliation, calumny, extreme and undeserved
reproach from those who crammed themselves
with securities, following the great money panic
in which his immense holdings passed into the
hands of others.</p>

<p>He was a soldier of the Indian war and was
on guard near the door of Fort Decatur when the
memorable attack took place on January 26th,
1856. The fort was built of timbers hewn by
D. T. Denny and two others, taken from his donation
claim. These timbers were brought to
Seattle, then a little settlement of about three
hundred people. There he helped to build the
fort.</p>

<p>Many persons have expressed a desire to see
a fitting memorial erected to the memory of Seattle&#8217;s
&#8220;Fairy Prince,&#8221; Founder and Defender,
David Thomas Denny.</p>

<p>I feel the inadequacy of these fragmentary
glimpses of the busy life of this well known pioneer.
I have not made a set arrangement of the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 254]</span>
material as I wished to preserve the testimony of
others, hence there appear some repetitions; an
accurate and intimate biography may come in
the future.</p>

<p>Logically, his long, active, useful life in the
Northwest, might be divided into epochs on this
wise:</p>

<p>1st. The log cabin and &#8220;claim&#8221; era, in
which, within my own memory, he was seen toiling
early and late, felling the forest giants, cultivating
the soil, superintending Indian workers
and bringing in game, killed with his rifle.</p>

<p>2nd. The farm-home era, when he built a
substantial house on his part of the donation
claim, near the south end of Lake Union, obtained
cattle (famous Jersey stock of California),
horses, etc. The home then achieved by
himself and his equally busy wife, was one to be
desired, surrounded as it was by beautiful flowers,
orchards, wide meadows and pastures, and
outside these, the far-spreading primeval forest.</p>

<p>3rd. Town-building. The west end of the
claim, belonging to Louisa Denny, was first
platted; other plats followed, as may be seen by
reference to Seattle records. Commercial opportunities
loomed large and he entered upon many
promising enterprises. All these flourished for a
time.</p>

<p>4th. 1893. The failure of Baring Bros., as
he told me repeatedly, began it&mdash;theirs being the
result of having taken bonds of the Argentine<span class="pagenum">[Pg 255]</span>
Republic, and a revolution happening along,
$100,000,000.00 went by the board; a sizable
failure.</p>

<p>Partly on account of this and partly on account
of the vast advantage of the lender over
the borrower, and partly through the vast anxiety
of those who held his securities, they were able
to distribute among themselves his hard-earned
fortune.</p>

<p>&#8220;A certain man went down from Jerusalem
to Jericho and fell among thieves, which stripped
him of his raiment and wounded him and departed
leaving him half dead.&#8221;</p>

<p>The Deficiency Judgment also loomed large
and frequent and his last days were disturbed
by those who still pressed their greedy claims,
even following after his death, with a false, unjust
and monstrous sale of the cemetery in which
he lies buried!</p>

<p>But he is with the just men made perfect.</p>

<p>Law, custom and business methods have permitted,
from time immemorial, gross injustice to
debtors; formerly they were imprisoned; a man
might speedily pay his debts, if in prison!</p>

<p>The Deficiency Judgment and renewal of the
same gives opportunity for greedy and unprincipled
creditors to rob the debtor. There should
be a law compelling the return of the surplus.
When one class of people make many times their
money out of the misfortunes of others, there is
manifestly great inequality.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page256" name="page256">[Pg 256]</a></span>The principles of some are to grab all they
can, &#8220;skin&#8221; all they can, and follow up all they
can even to the <i>graveyard</i>.</p>

<p class="title">&#8220;THESE THINGS OUGHT NOT SO TO BE.&#8221;</p>

<p>5th. In the end he laid down all earthly
things, and in spite of grief and suffering, showed
a clear perception and grasp of justice, mercy
and truth.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page257" name="page257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV<br />

<span class="smaller">THE FIRST WEDDING ON ELLIOTT BAY.</span></h2>

<p>Concerning this notable occurrence many interesting
incidents were recorded by an interviewer
who obtained the same from the lips of
David Thomas Denny.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;On January 23rd, 1895, Mr. and Mrs. David
T. Denny celebrated their forty-second wedding
anniversary&mdash;and the anniversary of the first
wedding in Seattle&mdash;in their home at &#8216;Decatur
Terrace&#8217; (512 Temperance Street), Seattle, with
a gathering of children, grandchildren, relatives
and friends that represented four distinctive
generations.</p>

<p>&#8220;One of the notable features of the evening
was the large gathering of pioneers who collectively
represented more years of residence in
Seattle than ever were found together before.</p>

<p><a id="XI" name="XI"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;">
<img src="images/opp257.png" width="408" height="500" alt="" title="LOUISA B. DENNY" />
<span class="caption">LOUISA B. DENNY</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;What added interest to the occasion was
the historical fact that Mr. and Mrs. Denny were
the first couple married in Seattle, and the transition
from the small, uncouth log cabin, built forty-three
years ago by the sturdy young pioneer
for his bride, to the present beautiful residence
with all its modern convenience in which the respected
couple are enjoying the fruits of a well
spent life, was the subject of many congratulations
from the friends of the honored host and
<span class="pagenum"><a id="page258" name="page258">[Pg 258]</a></span>hostess who remembered their early trials and
tribulations. All present were more or less connected
with the history of Seattle, all knew one
another&#8217;s history, and with their children and
grandchildren the gathering, unconventional in
every respect, with the two-year-old baby romping
in the arms of the octogenarian, presented a
colossal, happy family reunion.</p>

<p>&#8220;The old pioneer days were not forgotten,
and one corner of the reception room was made
to represent the interior of a cabin, lined with
newspapers, decorated with gun, bullet pouch
and powder horn and measure, a calico sunbonnet,
straw hat and hunting shirt.</p>

<p>&#8220;A table was set to represent one in the
early fifties, namely, two boards across two boxes,
for a table, a smoked salmon, a tin plate full of
boiled potatoes, some sea biscuits and a few large
clams. Such a meal, when it was had, was supposed
to be a feast.</p>

<p>&#8220;Many other relics were in sight; a thirty-two
pound solid shot, fired by the sloop-of-war
Decatur among the Indians during the uprising;
a ten-pound shot belonging to Dr. Maynard&#8217;s cannon;
a pair of enormous elk&#8217;s horns belonging to
a six hundred and thirty-pound elk killed by Mr.
D. T. Denny, September 7th, 1869, in the woods
north west of Green Lake; the first Bible of the
family from which the eldest daughter, Miss
Emily Inez, learned her letters; an old-fashioned
Indian halibut hook, an ingenious contrivance;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 259]</span>
an old family Bible, once the property of the
father of David T. Denny, bearing the following
inscription on the inside cover:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;The property of J. Denny,</span>
<span class="i1">Purchased of J. Strange,</span>
<span class="i1">August the 15th, 1829,</span>
<span class="i2">Price 62-1/2 cents.</span>
<span class="i1">Putnam County, Indiana.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;Also a number of daguerreotypes of Mr.
and Mrs. D. T. Denny in the early years of their
married life, taken in the fifties, and one of W. G.
Latimer and his sister.</p>

<p>&#8220;All these and many more afforded food for
conversation and reminiscences on the part of
the old pioneers present.</p>

<p>&#8220;An informal programme introduced the
social intercourse of the evening. Harold Denny,
a grandson of the hosts and son of Mr. John B.
Denny, made an address to his grandparents, giving
them the greeting of the assembly in these
words:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;&#8216;O fortunate, O happy day,&#8217;</span>
<span class="i0">The people sing, the people say,</span>
<span class="i0">The bride and bridegroom, pioneers,</span>
<span class="i0">Crowned now with good and gracious years</span>
<span class="i0">Serenely smile upon the scene.</span>
<span class="i0">The growing state they helped to found</span>
<span class="i0">Unto their praise shall yet redound.</span>
<span class="i0">O may they see a green old age,</span>
<span class="i0">With every leaf a written page</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 260]</span><span class="i0">Of joy and peace from day to day.</span>
<span class="i0">In good, new times not far away</span>
<span class="i0">May people sing and people say,</span>
<span class="i0">&#8216;Heaven bless their coming years;</span>
<span class="i0">Honor the noble Pioneers.&#8217;</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;The chief diversion was afforded by the
sudden entrance of a band of sixteen young men
and women gorgeously dressed as Indians, preceded
by a runner who announced their approach.
They were headed by Capt. D. T.
Davies who acted as chief. The band marched in
true Indian file, formed a circle and sat down
on the floor with their &#8216;tamanuse&#8217; boards upon
which they beat the old time music and sang their
Indian songs. After an impressive hush, the
chief addressed their white chief, Denny, in the
Chinook language, wishing Mr. and Mrs. Denny
many returns of the auspicious occasion.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny, who is an adept in the Indian
languages, replied in the same tongue, thanking
his dark brethren for their good intentions and
speaking of the happy relations that always existed
between the whites and the Indians until
bad white men and whisky turned the minds and
brains of the Indians. The council then broke
up and took their departure.</p>

<p>&#8220;The marriage certificate of Mr. and Mrs.
Denny is written on heavy blue paper and has
been so carefully preserved that, beyond the
slight fading of the ink, it is as perfect as when
first given in the dense forests on the shores of
Elliott Bay. It reads as follows:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 261]</span>&#8220;&#8216;This may certify that David Denny and
Louisa Boren were joined in marriage at the residence
of Arthur A. Denny in the County of King
and Territory of Oregon, by me in the presence
of A. A. Denny and wife and others, on this 23rd
day of January, 1853. D. S. Maynard, J. P.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Another historical event, apropos right
here, was the death and burial of D. S. Maynard
early in 1873.</p>

<p>&#8220;The funeral services were conducted March
15, 1873, by Rev. John F. Damon in Yesler&#8217;s
pavilion, then located at what is now Cherry and
Front Streets. The funeral was under the auspices
of St. John&#8217;s lodge, of which Dr. Maynard
was a member. The remains were escorted to
what is now Denny Park&mdash;the gift to the city, of
Mr. David T. Denny&mdash;and the casket was deposited
and kept in the tool house of that place
until the trail could be cut to the new Masonic&mdash;now
Lake View&mdash;cemetery. Maynard&#8217;s body
was the first interred there.</p>

<p>&#8220;Miss Louisa Boren, who married Mr. David
T. Denny, was the younger sister of A. A. Denny&#8217;s
wife and came across the plains with the
Denny&#8217;s in 1851.</p>

<p>&#8220;The house of A. A. Denny, in which the
marriage took place, was located near the foot of
what is now Bell Street, and was the first cabin
built by A. A. Denny when he moved over from
Alki Point. Seattle was then a dense forest down
to the water&#8217;s edge, and had at that time, in the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 262]</span>
spring of 1852, only three cabins, namely: C. D.
Boren&#8217;s, the bride&#8217;s brother; W. N. Bell&#8217;s and A.
A. Denny&#8217;s. Boren&#8217;s stood where now stands the
Merchant&#8217;s National Bank, and Bell&#8217;s was near
the foot of Battery Street.</p>

<p>&#8220;At first the forests were so dense that the
only means of communication was along the
beach at low tide; after three or four months, a
trail was beaten between the three cabins. David
lived with his brother, but he built himself a
cabin previous to his marriage, near the foot of
Denny Way, near and north of Bell&#8217;s house. To
this lonely cabin in the woods, he took his bride
and they lived there until August, 1853, eking out
an existence like the other pioneers, chopping
wood, cutting piles for shipment, living on anyhow,
but always managing to have enough to eat,
such as it was, with plenty of pure spring water.</p>

<p>&#8220;In August, of 1853, he built a cabin on the
spot where now the Frye Block stands and they
passed the winter of 1853 there.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the spring of 1854 he built another cabin
further east on the donation claim, east of what
is now Box Street, between Mercer and Republican,
and they moved into it, remaining there
until near the time of the Indian outbreak.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Denny had acquired a knowledge of the
various Indian dialects, and through this learned
much of the threatened outbreak, and moved his
family in time back to the house on the Frye
Block site, which was also near the stockade or<span class="pagenum">[Pg 263]</span>
fort that stood at the foot of Cherry Street.
During the greater part of the winter of 1855 the
women in the settlement lived in the fort, and Mrs.
Denny passed much of the time there.</p>

<p>&#8220;After the Indian trouble was over the Denny&#8217;s
moved out again to their outside cabin. The
Indians making the trouble were the Swunumpsh
and the Klickitats, from east of the mountains;
the Sound Indians, the Duwampsh and the Suquampsh,
were friendly and helped the whites a
great deal. Sealth or Seattle belonged to the
Suquampsh tribe and his men gave the first warning
of the approach of the hostile Indians.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. and Mrs. David T. Denny have had
eight children, four daughters and four sons. One
son died shortly after birth, and all the others grew
to maturity, after which the father and mother
were called to mourn the loss of two daughters.
Two daughters and three sons survive, namely:
Miss Emily Inez, Mrs. Abbie D. Lindsley, Mr.
John B. Denny, Mr. D. Thomas Denny and Mr.
Victor W. S. Denny.</p>

<p>&#8220;The sons are all married and nine out of ten
grandchildren were present last evening to gladden
the hearts of Grandpa and Grandma Denny.
The absent members of the family group were
Mrs. John B. Denny and daughter, in New York
on a visit.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;People in these days of modern improvements
and plenty know nothing of the hardships<span class="pagenum">[Pg 264]</span>
the pioneer of forty years ago had to undergo
right here,&#8217; said Mr. Denny.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Nearly forty years of life in a dense forest
surrounded by savages and wild beasts, with the
hardest kind of work necessary in order to eke
out an existence, was the lot of every man and
woman here. It was a life of privation, inconveniences,
anxieties, fears and dangers innumerable,
and required physical and mental strength
to live it out. Of course, we all had good health,
for in twenty-four years&#8217; time we only had a doctor
four times. Our colony grew little by little,
good men and bad men came in and by the time
the Indians wanted to massacre us we had about
three hundred white men, women and children.
We got our provisions from ships that took our
piles and then the Indians also furnished us with
venison, potatoes, fish, clams and wild fowl.
Flour, sugar and coffee we got from San Francisco.
When we could get no flour, we made a
shift to live on potatoes.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;In speaking of cold weather, Mr. Denny
recalled the year of 1852, when it was an open
winter until March 3, but that night fourteen
inches of snow fell and made it the coldest winter,
all in that one month. The next severe winter
was that of 1861-2, which was about the coldest
on record. During those cold spells the pioneers
kept warm cutting wood.</p>

<p>&#8220;The unique invitations sent out for this anniversary,
consisted of a fringed piece of buck-<span class="pagenum">[Pg 265]</span>skin
stretched over the card and painted &#8217;1851,
Ankuti. 1895, Okoke Sun.&#8217; They were well
responded to, and every room in the large house
was filled with interested guests, from the baby
in arms to the white haired friend of the old people.
Pioneers were plenty, and it is doubtful if
there ever was a gathering in the City of Seattle
that could aggregate so many years of residence
in the Queen City of the West on the shores of
Elliott Bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;Arranged according to families, and classing
those as pioneers who came prior to the Indian
war of 1855-6, the following list will be
found of historical value:</p>

<p>&#8220;Rev. and Mrs. D. E. Blaine, pioneers; A. A.
Denny, brother of D. T. Denny; Loretta Denny,
sister of D. T. Denny; Lenora Denny, daughter
of A. A. Denny; Rev. and Mrs. Daniel Bagley,
pioneers of 1852, Oregon, Seattle 1860; Mrs.
Clarence B. Bagley, daughter of Thomas Mercer,
1852; C. B. Bagley, pioneer, 1852 Oregon, Seattle
1860; Hillory Butler, pioneer; Mrs. Gardner
Kellogg, daughter of Bonney, Pierce County
1853; Walter Graham, pioneer; Rev. Geo. F.
Whitworth, pioneer; Thomas Mercer, 1852 Oregon,
Seattle 1853; David Graham, 1858; Mrs.
Susan Graham, daughter of Thomas Mercer;
Mrs. S. D. Libby, wife of Captain Libby, pioneer;
George Frye, 1853; Mrs. Katherine Frye, daughter
of A. A. Denny; Sophie and Bertie Frye,
granddaughters of A. A. Denny; Mrs. Mamie<span class="pagenum">[Pg 266]</span>
Kauffman Dawson, granddaughter of Wm. N.
Bell, pioneer; Mr. and Mrs. D. B. Ward, pioneers
(Mrs. Ward, daughter of Charles Byles, of
Thurston County, 1853); Mrs. Abbie D. Lindsley,
daughter of D. T. and Louisa Denny; the
Bryans, all children of Edgar Bryan, a pioneer
of Thurston County; J. W. George, pioneer 1852;
Orange Jacobs, pioneer of Oregon.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>In another chapter it has been shown how
D. T. Denny was the first of the name to reach
Puget Sound. Not having yet attained his majority
he was required to consider, judge and
act for himself and others. Like the two spies,
who entered the Promised Land in ancient days,
Low and Denny viewed the goodly shores of
Puget Sound for the sake of others by whom
their report was anxiously awaited.</p>

<p>As before stated, Low returned to carry the
tidings of the wonderful country bordering on
the Inland Sea, while David T. Denny, but nineteen
years of age, was left alone, the only white
person on Elliott Bay, until the Exact came with
the brave families of the first settlers. From
that time on he has been in the forefront of progress
and effort, beginning at the very foundation
of trade, business enterprises, educational interests,
religious institutions and reforms. From
the early conditions of hard toil in humble occupations,
through faith, foresight and persistence,
he rose to a leading position in the business
world, when his means were lavished in modern<span class="pagenum">[Pg 267]</span>
enterprises and improvements through which
many individuals and the general public were
benefited, said improvements being now in daily
use in the City of Seattle.</p>

<p>One of these is the Third Street and Suburban
Electric Railway, built and equipped by this
energetic pioneer and his sons.</p>

<p>The old donation claim having become valuable
city property, the taxation was heavy to
meet the expenses of extravagant and wasteful
administration partly, and partly incidental to
the phenomenal growth of the city, consequently
both Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny have paid into
the public treasury a considerable fortune, ten or
twelve thousand a year for ten years, twenty
thousand for grades, six thousand at a time for
school tax and so on&mdash;much more than they were
able to use for themselves.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>A fascinating volume would recount their
hunting adventures, as all, father and sons, are
fine shots; game, both large and small, swarmed
about the present site of Seattle in the early
days.</p>

<p>Indeed, for many years the bounty of Nature
failed not; as late as 1879, ruffed grouse
or &#8220;pheasants,&#8221; blue grouse, brown and black
bears were numerous seven or eight miles north
of Seattle, a region then untenanted wilds. The
women folk were not always left behind on hunting
expeditions, and the pioneer mother, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page268" name="page268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
daughters, too, quite often accompanied them.</p>

<p>Into this primeval wilderness, to a mineral
spring known and visited by the Indians in times
past and called by them Licton, came the father,
mother and eldest son to enjoy all they might
discover. The two hunting dogs proved necessary
and important members of the party by
rousing up a big black bear and her cubs near
the spring,&mdash;but we will let the pioneer mother,
Mrs. Louisa Denny, tell the tale as she has often
told it in the yesterdays:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;We were out in the deep forest at the mineral
spring the Indians call &#8216;Licton&#8217;; the two
dogs, Prince and Gyp, treed a black bear cub in
a tall fir on the farther side of the brook, a little
way along the trail; the hunters pressed up and
fired. Receiving a shot, the cub gave a piercing
scream and, tumbling down, aroused the old bear,
which, though completely hidden by the undergrowth,
answered it with an enraged roar that
sounded so near that the hunters fled without
ceremony. I sat directly in the path, on the
ends of some poles laid across the brook for a
foot bridge, very calmly resting and not at all
excited&mdash;as yet. My boy yelled to me, at the top
of his voice, &#8216;Get up a tree, mother! get up a
tree, quick! The old bear is coming!&#8217; Hearing
a turmoil at the foot of the big tree, where the
dogs, old bear and two cubs were engaged in a
general melee, I also thought it best to &#8216;get up a
tree.&#8217; We dashed across the brook and climbed<span class="pagenum">[Pg 269]</span>
up a medium sized alder tree&mdash;the boy first, myself
next, and my husband last and not very far
from the ground. We could hear the bear crashing
around through the tall bushes and ferns,
growling at every step and only a little way off,
but she did not come out in sight. The dogs
came and lay down under the tree where we
were. Two long, weary hours we watched for
Bruin, and then, everything being quiet, climbed
down, stiff and sore, parted the brushes cautiously
and reconnoitered. One climbed up a leaning
tree to get a better view, but there was no
view to be had, the woods were so thick. We
crept along softly until we reached the foot of
the big fir, and there lay the wounded cub, dead!
The hunters dragged it a long distance, looking
back frequently and feeling very uncertain, as
they had no means of knowing the whereabouts
of the enemy. I walked behind carrying one of
the guns. Perhaps I was cruel in asking them
if they looked behind them when they tacked
the skin on the barn at home! However, it was
certainly a case of discretion better than valor,
as one weapon was only a shotgun and the rank
undergrowth gave no advantage. It seemed to
make everybody laugh when we told of our adventure,
but I did not think the experience altogether
amusing, and I shall never forget that
mother-bear&#8217;s roar. They have killed plenty
of big game since; my two younger boys shot a
fine, large black bear whose beautiful skin<span class="pagenum">[Pg 270]</span>
adorns my parlor floor and is much admired.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>This is but one incident in the life of a pioneer
woman, the greater portion of whose existence
has been spent in the wilds of the Northwest.
In perils oft, in watchings many, in often
uncongenial toil, Louisa Boren Denny spent the
years of her youth and prime, as did the other
pioneer mothers.</p>

<p>&#8220;What a book the story of my life would
make!&#8221; she exclaimed in a retrospective mood&mdash;yet,
like the majority of the class she typifies,
she has left the book unwritten, while hand and
brain have been busy with the daily duties pressing
on her.</p>

<p>A childhood on the beautiful, flower-decked,
virgin prairie of Illinois, in the log cabin days
of that state, the steadfast pursuit of knowledge
until maturity, when she went out to instruct
others, the breaking of many ties of friendship
to accompany her relatives across the plains, the
joy of new scenes so keenly appreciated by the
observant mind, the self-denials and suffering
inevitable to that stupendous journey and the
reaching of the goal on Puget Sound, at once
the beginning and the ending of eventful days,
might be the themes of its opening chapters.</p>

<p>Her marriage and the rearing of beautiful
and gifted children, in the midst of the solemn
and noble solitudes of Nature&#8217;s great domain,
where they often wandered together hand in
hand, she the gentle teacher, they the happy<span class="pagenum">[Pg 271]</span>
learners, green boughs and fair blossoms bending
near&mdash;yes, the toil, too, as well as pleasure,
in which the willing hands wrought and tireless
feet hastened to and fro in the service of her
God, all these things I shared in are indelibly
written on my memory&#8217;s pages, though they be
never recorded elsewhere.</p>

<p class="title">AND WHILE SHE WROUGHT, SHE THOUGHT</p>

<p>Many times in the latter years, spoken opinions
have shown that she has originated ideas
of progress and reform that have been subsequently
brought before the public as initiative
and original, but were no less original with her.</p>

<p>Mrs. Louisa Denny was a member of the
famous grand jury, with several other women of
the best standing; during their term the gamblers
packed their grip-sacks to leave Seattle,
as those &#8220;old women on the jury&#8221; were making
trouble for them.</p>

<p>For many years she was called upon or
volunteered to visit the sick, anon to be present
at a surgical operation, and with ready response
and steady nerve complied.</p>

<p>Generous to a fault, hospitable and kind, in
countless unknown deeds of mercy and unrecorded
words, she expressed good-will toward
humanity, and the recipients, a goodly company,
might well arise up and call her &#8220;Blessed.&#8221;</p>

<p>A separate sketch is given in which the life
of the first bride of Seattle is more fully set
forth.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page272" name="page272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER V.<br />

<span class="smaller">LOUISA BOREN DENNY, THE FIRST BRIDE OF SEATTLE,</span></h2>

<p>Was born in White County, Illinois, on the
1st of June, 1827, and is the daughter of Richard
Freeman Boren and Sarah Latimer Boren. Her
father, a young Baptist minister, died when she
was an infant, and she has often said, &#8220;I have
missed my father all my life.&#8221; A religious nature
seems to have been inherited, as she has
also said, &#8220;I cannot remember when I did not
pray to God.&#8221;</p>

<p>Her early youth was spent on the great
prairies, then a veritable garden adorned with
many beautiful wild flowers, in the log cabin
with her widowed, pioneer mother, her sister
Mary and brother Carson.</p>

<p>She learned to be industrious and thrifty
without parsimony; to be simple, genuine, faithful.
In the heat of summer or cold of winter
she trudged to school, as she loved learning,
showing, as her mind developed, a natural aptitude
and taste for the sciences; chemistry,
philosophy, botany and astronomy being her
especial delights.</p>

<p>Of a striking personal appearance, her fair
complexion with a deep rose flush in the cheeks,
sparkling eyes, masses of heavy black hair,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 273]</span>
small and perfect figure, would have attracted
marked attention in any circle.</p>

<p>Her temperate and wholesome life, never
given to fashion&#8217;s follies, retained for her these
points of beauty far beyond middle life, when
many have lost all semblance of their youth and
have become faded and decrepit.</p>

<p>Her school life merged into the teacher&#8217;s
and she took her place in the ranks of the pioneer
instructors, who were truly heroic.</p>

<p>She taught with patience the bare-foot
urchins, some of whom were destined for great
things, and boarded &#8217;round as was the primitive
custom.</p>

<p>Going to camp meetings in the summer, lectures
and singing schools in the winter were developing
influences in those days, and primitive
pleasures were no less delightful; the husking-bees,
quilting parties and sleigh rides of fifty
years ago in which she participated.</p>

<p>In 1851, when she was twenty-four years
of age, she joined the army of pioneers moving
West, in the division composed of her mother&#8217;s
and step-father&#8217;s people, her mother having married
John Denny and her sister Mary, A. A.
Denny.</p>

<p><a id="XII" name="XII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/opp273.jpg" width="600" height="357" alt="" title="FLOWER GARDEN PLANTED BY LOUISA B. DENNY" />
<span class="caption">FLOWER GARDEN PLANTED BY LOUISA B. DENNY</span>
</div>

<p>With what buoyant spirits, bright with hope
and anticipation, they set out, except for the
cloud of sorrow that hovered over them for the
parting with friends they left behind. But they
soon found it was to be a hard-fought battle.
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 274]</span>Louisa Boren, the only young, unmarried
woman of the party, found many things to do
in assisting those who had family cares. Her
delight in nature was unlimited, and although
she found no time to record her observations
and experiences, her anecdotes and descriptions
have given pleasure to others in after years.</p>

<p>She possessed dauntless courage and in the
face of danger was cool and collected.</p>

<p>It was she who pleaded for the boat to be
turned inshore on a memorable night on the Columbia
River, when they came so near going
over the falls (the Cascades) owing to the stupefied
condition of the men who had been imbibing
&#8220;Blue Ruin&#8221; too freely.</p>

<p>When the party arrived at Alki Point on
Puget Sound, although the outlook was not
cheerful, she busied herself a little while after
landing in observing the luxuriant and, to her,
curious vegetation.</p>

<p>She soon made friends with the Indians and
succeeded admirably in dealing with them, having
patience and showing them kindness, for
which they were not ungrateful.</p>

<p>It transpired that the first attempt at building
on the site of Seattle, so far as known to
the writer, is to be credited to Louisa Boren and
another white woman, who crossed Elliott Bay
in a canoe with Indian paddlers and a large dog
to protect them from wild animals. They made
their way through an untouched forest, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page275" name="page275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
two women cut and laid logs for the foundation
of a cabin.</p>

<p>As she was strikingly beautiful, young and
unmarried, both white and Indian braves
thought it would be a fine thing to win her hand,
and intimations of this fact were not wanting.
The young Indians brought long poles with them
and leaned them up against the cabin at Alki,
the significance of which was not at first understood,
but it was afterward learned that they
were courtship poles, according to their custom.</p>

<p>The white competitors found themselves
distanced by the younger Denny, who was the
first of the name to set foot on Puget Sound.</p>

<p>On January 23rd, 1853, in the cabin of A. A.
Denny, on the east side of Elliott Bay, Louisa
Boren was married to David T. Denny.</p>

<p>In order to fulfil law and custom, David
had made a trip to Olympia and back in a canoe
to obtain a marriage license, but was told that
no one there had authority to issue one, so he
returned undaunted to proceed without it;
neither was there a minister to perform the ceremony,
but Dr. Maynard, who was a Justice of
the Peace, successfully tied the knot.</p>

<p>Among the few articles of wearing apparel
it was possible to transport to these far-off
shores in a time of slow and difficult travel, was
a white lawn dress, which did duty as a wedding
gown.</p>

<p>The young couple moved their worldly pos<span class="pagenum"><a id="page276" name="page276">[Pg 276]</a></span>sessions
in an Indian canoe to their own cabin
on the bay, about a mile and a half away, in a
little clearing at the edge of the vast forest.</p>

<p>Here began the life of toil and struggle
which characterized the early days.</p>

<p>Then came the Indian war. A short time
before the outbreak, while they were absent at
the settlement, some Indians robbed the cabin;
as they returned they met the culprits. Mrs.
Denny noticed that one of them had adorned
his cap with a white embroidered collar and a
gray ribbon belonging to her. The young rascal
when questioned said that the other one had
given them to him. Possibly it was true; at any
rate when George Seattle heard of it he gave the
accused a whipping.</p>

<p>The warnings given by their Indian friends
were heeded and they retired to the settlement,
to a little frame house not far from Fort Decatur.</p>

<p>On the morning of the battle, January 26th,
Louisa Boren Denny was occupied with the necessary
preparation of food for her family. She
heard shots and saw from her window the
marines swarming up from their boats onto Yesler&#8217;s
wharf, and rightly judging that the attack
had begun she snatched the biscuits from the
oven, turned them into her apron, gathered up
her child, two years old, and ran toward the fort.
Her husband, who was standing guard, met her
and assisted them into the fort.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 277]</span>A little incident occurred in the fort which
showed her strong temperance principles. One
of the officers, perhaps feeling the need of something
to strengthen his courage, requested her
to pour out some whisky for him, producing a
bottle and glass; whether or no his hand was already
unsteady from fear or former libations,
she very properly refused and has, throughout
her whole life, discouraged the use of intoxicants.</p>

<p>A number of the settlers remained in the
fort for some time, as it was unsafe for them
to return to their claims.</p>

<p>On the 16th of March, 1856, her second child
was born in Fort Decatur.</p>

<p>With this infant and the elder of two years
and three months, they journeyed back again
into the wilderness, where she took up the toilsome
and uncertain life of the frontier. &#8220;There
was nothing,&#8221; she has said, &#8220;that was too hard
or disagreeable for me to undertake.&#8221;</p>

<p>All the work of the house and even lending
a hand at digging and delving, piling and burning
brush outside, and the work was done without
questioning the limits of her &#8220;spere.&#8221;</p>

<p>They removed again to the edge of the settlement
and lived for a number of years in a rose-embowered
cottage on Seneca Street.</p>

<p>Accumulating cares filled the years, but she
met them with the same high courage throughout.
Her sons and daughters were carefully<span class="pagenum">[Pg 278]</span>
brought up and given every available advantage
even though it cost her additional sacrifice.</p>

<p>Her half of the old donation claim became
very valuable in time as city property, but the
enormous taxation robbed her to a considerable
extent of its benefits.</p>

<p>The manner of life of this heroic mother,
type of her race, was such as to develop the
noblest traits of character. The patience, steadfastness,
courage, hopefulness and the consideration
for the needs and trials of others, wrought
out in her and others like her, during the pioneer
days, challenge the admiration of the world.</p>

<p>I have seen the busy toil, the anxious brow,
the falling tears of the pioneer woman as she
tended her sick or fretful child, hurried the dinner
for the growing family and the hired Indians
who were clearing, grubbing or ditching,
bent over the washtub to cleanse the garments
of the household, or up at a late hour to mend
little stockings for restless feet, meanwhile helping
the young students of the family to conquer
the difficulties that lay before them.</p>

<p>The separation from dearly loved friends,
left far behind, wrought upon the mind of the
pioneer woman to make her sad to melancholy,
but after a few years new ties were formed and
new interests grasped to partially wear this
away, but never entirely, it is my opinion.</p>

<p>She traveled on foot many a weary mile or
rode over the roughest roads in a jolting, spring<span class="pagenum">[Pg 279]</span>less
wagon; in calm or stormy weather in the
tip-tilting Indian canoes, or on the back of the
treacherous cayuse, carrying her babes with her
through dangerous places, where to care for
one&#8217;s self would seem too great a burden to most
people, patient, calm, uncomplaining.</p>

<p>The little brown hands were busy from
morning to night in and about the cabin or cottage;
seldom could a disagreeable task be delegated
to another; to dress the fish and clams,
dig the potatoes in summer as needed for the
table, pluck the ducks and grouse, cook and serve
the same, fell to her lot before the children were
large enough to assist. Moreover, to milk the
cows, feed the horses, chop wood occasionally,
shoot at predatory birds and animals, burn brush
piles and plant a garden and tactfully trade with
the Indians were a few of the accomplishments
she mastered and practiced with skill and success.</p>

<p>In the summer time this mother took the
children out into the great evergreen forest to
gather wild berries for present and future use.
While the youngest slept under giant ferns or
drooping cedar, she filled brimming pails with
the luscious fruit, salmonberry, dewberry or
huckleberry in their seasons. Here, too, the
older children could help, and there was an admixture
of pleasure in stopping to gather the
wild scarlet honeysuckle, orange lilies, snowy
Philadelphus, cones, mosses and lichens and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 280]</span>
listening to the &#8220;blackberry bird,&#8221; as we called
the olive-backed thrush, or the sigh of the boughs
overhead.</p>

<p>The family dog went along, barking cheerfully
at every living thing, chasing rabbits, digging
out &#8220;suwellas&#8221; or scaring up pheasants and
grouse which the eldest boy would shoot. It was
a great treat to the children, but when all returned
home, tired after the day&#8217;s adventure, it
was mother&#8217;s hands prepared the evening meal
and put the sleepy children to bed.</p>

<p>Everywhere that she has made her home,
even for a few years, she has cultivated a garden
of fragrant and lovely flowers, a source of much
pleasure to her family and friends. The old-fashioned
roses and hollyhocks, honeysuckles
and sweet Williams grew and flourished, with
hosts of annuals around the cottage on Seneca
Street in the &#8217;60s, and at the old homestead on
Lake Union the old and new garden favorites
ran riot; so luxuriant were the Japan and Ascension
lilies, the velvety pansies, tea, climbing,
moss and monthly roses, fancy tulips, English
violets, etc., etc., as to call forth exclamations
from passersby. Some were overheard in enthusiastic
praise saying, &#8220;Talk about Florida!
just look at these flowers!&#8221;</p>

<p>The great forest, with its wealth of beautiful
flowers and fruitful things, gave her much
delight; the wild flowers, ferns, vines, mosses,
lichens and evergreens, to which she often called<span class="pagenum">[Pg 281]</span>
our attention when we all went blackberrying
or picnicing in the old, old time.</p>

<p>The grand scenery of the Northwest accords
with her thought-life. She always keenly
enjoys the oft-recurring displays of wonderful
color in the western sky, the shimmering waves
under moon or sun, the majestic mountains and
dark fir forests that line the shores of the Inland
Sea.</p>

<p>In early days she was of necessity everything
in turn to her family; when neither physician
nor nurse was readily obtainable, her treatment
of their ailments commanded admiration,
as she promptly administered and applied with
excellent judgment the remedies at her command
with such success that professional service
was not needed for thirty years except in case
of accident of unusual kind.</p>

<p>She looked carefully to the food, fresh air,
exercise and bathing of her little flock with the
most satisfying results. She believes in the
house for the people, not the people for the
house, and has invariably put the health and
comfort of her household before her care for
things.</p>

<p>Her mind is one to originate and further
ideas of reform and eagerly appropriate the best
of others&#8217; conclusions.</p>

<p>Ever the sympathetic counsellor and friend
of her children in work and study, she shared
their pastimes frequently as well. She remem<span class="pagenum">[Pg 282]</span>bers
going through the heavy forest which once
surrounded Lake Union with her boys trout-fishing
in the outlet of the lake; while she poked
the fish with a pole from their hiding places under
the bank the boys would gig them, having
good success and much lively sport.</p>

<p>On one trip they had the excitement of a
cougar hunt; that is, the cougar seemed to be
hunting them, but they &#8220;made tracks&#8221; and accomplished
their escape; the cougar was afterward
killed.</p>

<p>Several other of her adventures are recounted
elsewhere. It would require hundreds
of pages to set forth a moving picture of the stirring
frontier life in which she participated.</p>

<p>Louisa Boren Denny is a pioneer woman of
the best type.</p>

<p>Her charities have been many; kind and encouraging
words, sympathy and gifts to the
needy and suffering; her nature is generous and
unselfish, and, though working quietly, her influence
is and has ever been none the less potent
for good.</p>

<p>&#8220;Peace hath her victories no less renowned
than war.&#8221;</p>

<p>Of the victories over environment and circumstances
much might be written. The lack
of comforts and conveniences compelled arduous
manual toil and the busy &#8220;brown hands&#8221; found
many homely duties to engage their activities.
In and out of the cabins the high-browed pio<span class="pagenum">[Pg 283]</span>neer
mothers wrought, where now the delicate
dames, perhaps, indolently occupy luxuriant
homes.</p>

<p>It is impossible for these latter to realize
the loneliness, wildness and rudeness of the surroundings
of the pioneer women. Instead of
standing awed before the dauntless souls that
preceded them, with a toss of the head they say,
&#8220;You might endure such things but we couldn&#8217;t,
<i>we are so much finer clay</i>.&#8221;</p>

<p>The friends they left behind were sorely
regretted; one pioneer woman said the most cruel
deprivation was the rarity of letters from home
friends, the anxious waiting month after month
for some word that might tell of their well-being.
Neither telegraph nor fleet mail service had then
been established.</p>

<p>The pioneer woman learned to face every
sort of danger from riding rough water in an
Indian canoe to hunting blackberries where
bears, panthers and Indians roamed the deep
forest. One said that she would not go through
it again for the whole State of Washington.</p>

<p>Each was obliged to depend almost wholly
on herself and was compelled to invent and apply
many expedients to feed and clothe herself
and little ones. There was no piano playing
or fancy work for her, but she made, mended
and re-made, cooked, washed and swept, helped
put in the garden or clear the land, all the time
instructing her children as best she could, and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 284]</span>
by both precept and example, inculcating those
high principles that mark true manhood and
womanhood.</p>

<p>The typical band of pioneer women who
landed on Alki Point, all but one of whom sat
down to weep, have lived to see a great city built,
in less than a half century, the home of thousands
who reap the fruits of their struggles in
the wilderness.</p>

<p>The heroic endurance with which they toiled
and waited, many years, the tide in their affairs,
whereby they attained a moderate degree of ease,
comfort and freedom from anxiety, all so hardily
won, is beyond words of admiration.</p>

<p>The well-appointed kitchen of today, with
hot and cold water on tap, fine steel range, cupboards
and closets crowded with every sort of
cunning invention in the shape of utensils for
cooking, is a luxurious contrast to the meager
outfit of the pioneer housewife. As an example
of the inconvenience and privations of the early
&#8217;50s, I give the following from the lips of one
of the pioneer daughters, Sarah (Bonney)
Kellogg:</p>

<p>&#8220;When we came to Steilacoom in 1853, we
lived overhead in a rough lumber store building,
and my mother had to go up and down stairs
and out into the middle of the street or roadway
and cook for a numerous family by a stump fire.
She owned the only sieve in the settlement, a
large round one; flour was $25.00 a barrel and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 285]</span>
had weevils in it at that, so every time bread
was made the flour had to be sifted to get them
out. The sieve was very much in demand and
frequently the children were sent here or there
among the neighbors to bring it home.</p>

<p>&#8220;We had sent to Olympia for a stove, but
it was six weeks before it reached its destination.&#8221;</p>

<p>Think of cooking outdoors for six weeks
for a family of growing children, with only the
fewest possible dishes and utensils, too!</p>

<p>Any woman of the present time may imagine,
if she will, what it would be to have every
picture, or other ornament, every article of furniture,
except the barest necessities for existence,
the fewest possible in number, every fashionable
garment, her house itself with its vines
and shrubbery suddenly vanish and raise her
eyes to see without the somber forest standing
close around; within, the newspapered or bare
walls of a log cabin, a tiny window admitting
little light, a half-open door, but darkened frequently
by savage faces; or to strain her ears
to catch the song, whistle or step of her husband
returning through the dark forest, fearing but
hoping and praying that he may not have fallen
on the way by the hand of a foe. She might look
down to see her form clad in homely garments
of cotton print, moccasins on her feet, and her
wandering glance touch her sunbonnet hanging
on a peg driven between the logs.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 286]</span>Now and then a wild cry sounds faintly or
fully over the water or from the sighing depths
of the vast wilderness.</p>

<p>An unusual challenge by ringing stentorian
voices may call her to the door to scan the face
of the waters and see great canoes loaded with
brawny savages, whose intentions are uncertain,
paddled swiftly up the bay, instead of the familiar
sound of steam whistles and gliding in of
steamships to a welcome port.</p>

<p>Should it be a winter evening and her companion
late, they seat themselves at a rude table
and partake of the simplest food from the barely
sufficient dishes, meanwhile striving to reassure
each other ere retiring for the night.</p>

<p>So day after day passed away and many
years of them, the conditions gradually modified
by advancing civilization, yet rendered even
more arduous by increasing cares and toils incident
upon the rearing and educating of a family
with very little, if any, assistance from such
sources as the modern mother has at her command.
Physicians and nurses, cooks and house-maids
were almost entirely lacking, and the
mother, with what the father could help her,
had to be all these in turn.</p>

<p>In all ordinary, incipient or trifling ailments
they necessarily became skillful, and for many
years kept their families in health with active
and vigorous bodies, clear brains and goodly
countenances.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 287]</span>The pioneer women are of sterling worth
and character. The patience, courage, purity
and steadfastness which were developed in them
presents a moral resemblance to the holy women
of old.</p>

<p>Pioneer men are generally liberal in their
views, as was witnessed when the suffrage was
bestowed upon the women of Washington Territory
several years ago.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page288" name="page288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER Va.<br />

<span class="smaller">A NATIVE DAUGHTER, BORN IN FORT DECATUR.</span></h2>

<p>Madge Decatur Denny was born in Fort
Decatur, in the year of the Indian war, on March
16th, 1856; to those sheltering walls had the
gentle mother, Louisa Boren Denny, fled on the
day of battle. Ushered into the world of danger
and rude alarms, her nature proved, in its development,
one well suited to the circumstances and
conditions; courage, steadfastness and intrepidity
were marked traits in her character. Far
from being outwardly indicated, they were
rather contrasted by her delicate and refined appearance;
one said of her, &#8220;Madge is such a
dainty thing.&#8221;</p>

<p>Madge was a beautiful child, and woman,
too, with great sparkling eyes, abundant golden-brown
curls and rosy cheeks. What a picture
lingers in my memory!&mdash;of this child with her
arms entwined about the slender neck of a pet
fawn, her eyes shining with love and laughter,
her burnished hair shimmering like a halo in the
sunlight as she pattered here and there with her
graceful playfellow.</p>

<p>The Indians admired her exceedingly, and
both they and the white people of the little settlement
often remarked upon her beauty.</p>

<p>In early youth she showed a keen intellectu<span class="pagenum">[Pg 289]</span>ality,
reading with avidity at ten years such
books as Irving&#8217;s &#8220;Life of Washington,&#8221; &#8220;History
of France,&#8221; &#8220;Pilgrim&#8217;s Progress,&#8221; Sir
Walter Scott&#8217;s &#8220;Lay of the Last Minstrel&#8221; and
&#8220;Lady of the Lake.&#8221; From that time on she
read every book or printed page that fell in her
way; a very rapid reader, one who seemed to
take in a page at a few glances, she ranged happily
over the fields of literature like a bright-winged
bird. Poetry, fiction, history, bards,
wits, essayists, all gave of their riches to her
fresh, inquiring young mind.</p>

<p>The surpassing loveliness and grandeur of
the &#8220;world in the open air&#8221; appealed to her pure
nature even in extreme youth; her friends recall
with wonder that when only two and a half years
of age she marked the enchantment of a scene
in Oregon, of flowery mead, dark forest and deep
canyon, under a bright June sky, by plucking at
her mother&#8217;s gown and lisping, &#8220;Look! mother,
look! so pitty!&#8221; (pretty).</p>

<p><a id="XIII" name="XIII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/opp289.jpg" width="600" height="353" alt="" title="DAUGHTERS OF D. T. AND LOUISA DENNY" />
<span class="caption">DAUGHTERS OF D. T. AND LOUISA DENNY<br />
Emily Inez&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Madge Decatur &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Anna Louisa &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mrs. Abbie Denny-Lindsley</span>
</div>

<p>And such a lover of flowers! From this
same season when she gathered armfuls of great,
golden buttercups, blue violets, scarlet columbines,
&#8220;flags&#8221; and lilies from the sunny slopes
of the Waldo Hills, through her youth, on the
evergreen banks of Puget Sound where she
climbed fearlessly about to pluck the purple
lupine, orange honeysuckle, Oregon grape and
sweet wild roses, was her love of them exemplified.
Very often she walked or rode on horse<span class="pagenum">[Pg 290]</span>back
some distance to procure the lovely lady&#8217;s
slipper (Calypso borealis), the favorite flower
of the pioneer children.</p>

<p>A charming letter writer, she often added
the adornment of a tiny group of wild flowers
in the corner, a few yellow violets, fairylike twin-flowers
or lady&#8217;s slippers.</p>

<p>At one time she had a large correspondence
with curious young Eastern people who wished
to know something of the far Northwest; to these
she sent accurate and graphic descriptions of
tall trees, great mountains, waterfalls, lakes and
seas, beasts, birds and fishes. She possessed no
mean literary talent; without her knowledge
some of her letters strayed into print. A very
witty one was published in a newspaper, cut out
and pasted in the scrapbook of an elocutionist,
and to her astonishment produced as a &#8220;funny
piece&#8221; before an audience among whom she sat,
the speaker evidently not knowing its author.
A parody on &#8220;Poe&#8217;s Raven&#8221; made another audience
weep real tears in anguished mirth.</p>

<p>Every felicitous phrase or quaint conceit
she met was treasured up, and to these were
added not a few of her own invention, and woe
betide the wight who accompanied her to opera,
concert or lecture, for her <i>sotto voce</i> comments,
murmured with a grave countenance, were disastrous
to their composure and &#8220;company manners.&#8221;</p>

<p>It must be recorded of her that she gave up<span class="pagenum">[Pg 291]</span>
selfish pleasures to be her mother&#8217;s helper, whose
chief stay she was through many years. In her
last illness she said, with much tenderness,
&#8220;Mother, who will help you now?&#8221;</p>

<p>Madge was a true <i>lady</i> or <i>loaf-giver</i>. Every
creature, within or without the domicile, partook
of her generous care, from the pet canary to the
housedog, all the human inhabitants and the
stranger within the gates.</p>

<p>Moreover, she was genuine, nothing she
undertook was slighted or done in a slipshod
manner.</p>

<p>Her taste and judgment were accurate and
sound in literature and art; her love of art led
her to exclaim regretfully, &#8220;When we are dead
and gone, the landscape will bristle with easels.&#8221;</p>

<p>A scant population and the exigencies of the
conditions placed art expression in the far future,
yet she saw the vast possibilities before
those who should be so fortunate as to dwell in
the midst of such native grandeur, beauty and
richness of color.</p>

<p>Like many other children, we had numerous
pets, wild things from the forest or the, to us,
charming juvenile members of the barnyard
flocks. When any of these succumbed to the inevitable,
a funeral of more or less pomp was in
order, and many a hapless victim of untoward
fate was thus tearfully consigned to the bosom
of Mother Earth. On one occasion, at the
obsequies of a beloved bird or kitten, I forget<span class="pagenum">[Pg 292]</span>
which, Madge, then perhaps six years of age,
insisted upon arranging a litter, draped with
white muslin and decorated with flowers, and
followed it, as it was borne by two other children,
singing with serious though tearless eyes,</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;We&#8217;re traveling to the grave</span>
<span class="i0">To lay this body down,</span>
<span class="i0">And the last word that I heard him speak</span>
<span class="i0">Was about Jerusalem,&#8221; etc.</span>
</div>

<p>She was so thoroughly in earnest that the
older children refrained from laughing at what
some might have thought unnecessary solemnity.</p>

<p>Madge had her share of adventures, too;
one dark night she came near drowning in Lake
Washington. Having visited the Newcastle coal
mines with a small party of friends and returned
to the lake shore, 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 &#8220;A
rope! A rope!&#8221; 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 assistance&mdash;and was safely drawn up, taken
to a miner&#8217;s cottage, where a kind-hearted
woman dressed her in dry clothing. She reached
home none the worse for her narrow escape.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 293]</span>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 seashore 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:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;I saw the long line of the vacant shore</span>
<span class="i0">The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand</span>
<span class="i0">And the brown rocks left bare on every hand</span>
<span class="i0">As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.</span>
<span class="i0">Then heard I more distinctly than before,</span>
<span class="i0">The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,</span>
<span class="i0">And hurrying came on the defenseless land,</span>
<span class="i0">The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar;</span>
<span class="i0">All thought and feeling and desire, I said</span>
<span class="i0">Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song</span>
<span class="i0">Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o&#8217;er me</span>
<span class="i0">They swept again from their deep ocean bed,</span>
<span class="i0">And in a tumult of delight and strong</span>
<span class="i0">As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>It must have been that &#8220;Bird and bee and
blossom taught her Love&#8217;s spell to know,&#8221; and
then she went away to the &#8220;land where Love itself
had birth.&#8221;</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page294" name="page294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER Vb.<br />

<span class="smaller">LIKE A FOREST FLOWER.<br />

ANNA LOUISA DENNY.</span></h2>

<p>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&#8217; 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.</p>

<p>While the other daughters were small and
delicately formed, Anna grew up to be a tall,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 295]</span>
statuesque woman of a truly noble appearance,
with a fair face, a high white forehead crowned
by masses of brown hair, and a countenance
mirthful, sunny, serious, but seldom stern.</p>

<p>A certain draped marble statue in the
Metropolitan Museum in New York bears a
striking resemblance to Anna, but is not of so
noble a type.</p>

<p>Childhood in the wild Northwest braved
many dangers both seen and unseen.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum">[Pg 296]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 &#8220;thar or tharabouts.&#8221; Their riders
stuck on like cockleburrs 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.</p>

<p>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 class.</p>

<p>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, &#8220;Right, then
Onward.&#8221;</p>

<p>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, &#8220;I believe in Jesus,&#8221; in gold letters
across the front.</p>

<p>In 1888 she accompanied her family across
the continent to the eastern coast, where she ex<span class="pagenum">[Pg 297]</span>pected
to be reunited with a friend, a young girl
to whom she was much attached, but it was otherwise
ordered; after a brief illness in New York
City, she passed away and was brought back to
her own loved native land, by the sun-down-seas.
Afar in a forest nook she rests, where wildwood
creatures pass by, the pine trees wave and the
stars sweep over, waiting, watching for the Day
toward which the whole creation moves.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>They wandered through the wonderful
forest, by lake, fern-embroidered stream and pebble
seashore, gazed on the glistening mountains,
the sparkling waves, the burning sunsets, shining
with such jewel colors as to make them think
of the land of hope, the New Jerusalem. And
the majestic snow-dome of Mountain Rainier
which at the first sight thereof caused a noted
man to leap up and shout aloud the joy that filled
his soul; they lived in sight of it for years.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>It might be asked, &#8220;Does the environment
affect the character and mental development,
even the physical configuration?&#8221; We answer,
&#8220;Yes, we believe it does.&#8221; The fine physique,
the bright intellectuality, the lovely character of
these daughters of the West were certainly in
part produced and developed by the wonderful
world about them. Simple, pure, exalted natures
ought to be, and we believe are, the rule<span class="pagenum">[Pg 298]</span>
among the children of the pioneers of Puget
Sound and many of their successors.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>In this time of gathering up portraits of
fair women, I cannot help reverting to the good
old times on Puget Sound, when among the
daughters of the white settlers ugliness was the
exception, the majority possessing many points
of beauty. Bright, dark eyes, brilliant complexions,
graceful forms, luxuriant hair and fine
teeth were the rule. The pure air, mild climate,
simple habits and rational life were amply
proved producers of physical perfection. Old-timers
will doubtless remember the handsome
Bonney girls, the Misses Chambers, the Misses
Thornton, Eva Andrews, Mary Collins, Nellie
Burnett, Alice Mercer, the Dennys, noticeable
for clear white skin and brilliant color, with
abundant dark hair, Gertrude and Mary Boren
with rosy cheeks and blue eyes; Blanche Hinds,
very fair, with large, gray eyes, and others I
cannot now name, as well as a number of beautiful
matrons. Every settlement had its favored
fair.</p>

<p>Perhaps because women were so scarce, they
were petted and indulged and came up with the
idea that they were very fine porcelain indeed;
they were all given the opportunities in the reach
of their parents and were quite fastidious in
their dress and belongings.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 299]</span>Of the other children of D. T. and Louisa
Boren Denny, John B. is a well educated and
accomplished man of versatility, a lawyer, musician,
and practical miner.</p>

<p>D. Thomas is an electrician; was a precocious
young business man who superintended
the building of an electric street railway when
under twenty-five years of age.</p>

<p>Victor W. S., a practical miner, assayer and
mining expert, who has been engaged in developing
gold and silver mines. Abbie D., an artist
and writer, who has published numerous articles,
a fine shot with the rifle and an accomplished
housewife; and E. I. Denny, the author of this
work, who is not now engaged in writing an autobiography.</p>

<p>All, including the last mentioned, are fond
of wild life, hunting, camping and mountain
climbing, in which they have had much experience
and yearly seek for more.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page300" name="page300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER Vc.<br />

<span class="smaller">ONE OF THE COURAGEOUS YOUTHS.</span></h2>

<p>William Richard Boren was one of the boy
pioneers. He was born in Seattle on the 4th of
October, 1854.</p>

<p>The children necessarily shared with their
parents and guardians the hardships, dangers,
adventures and pleasures of the wild life of the
early days.</p>

<p>When his father, Carson D. Boren, went to
the gold diggings, William came to the D. T.
Denny cottage and remained there for some
time. As there was then no boy in the family
(there were three little girls) he stepped into
usefulness almost immediately. To bring home
the cows, weed in the garden, carry flowers and
vegetables to market, cut and carry wood, the
&#8220;chores&#8221; of a pioneer home he helped to do willingly
and cheerfully.</p>

<p>Every pair of hands must help, and the children
learned while very young that they were
to be industrious and useful.</p>

<p>It required real fortitude to go on lonely
trails or roads through the dark, thick forest in
the deepening twilight that was impenetrable
blackness in the wall of sombre evergreens on
either hand.</p>

<p>Some children seem to have little fear of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 301]</span>
anything, but it was different with William; he
was afraid; as he graphically described it, he
&#8220;<i>felt as if something would catch him in the
back</i>.&#8221; But he steadfastly traveled the dark
trails, showing a remarkable quality of courage.</p>

<p>His sensations cannot be attributed to constitutional
timidity altogether, as there were real
dangers from wild beasts and savage men in
those days.</p>

<p>He would often go long distances from the
settlement through the great forest as the shadows
were darkening into night, listening breathlessly
for the welcome jingle of the bells of the
herd, or anxiously to snapping twigs and creaking
of lodged trees or voices of night-birds. But
when the cattle were gathered up and he could
hear the steady tinkle of the leader&#8217;s bell, although
to the eye she was lost in the dusk in the
trail ahead, he felt safe.</p>

<p>He calmly faced dangers, both seen and unseen,
in after years.</p>

<p>By the time he was twelve or fourteen he
had learned to shoot very well with the shotgun
and could bring home a fine bunch of blue grouse
or &#8220;pheasants&#8221; (ruffed grouse).</p>

<p>Late one May evening he came into the old
kitchen, laden with charming spoils from the
forest, a large handful of the sweet favorite of
the pioneer children, the lady&#8217;s slipper or
Calypso Borealis, and a bag of fat &#8220;hooters&#8221;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 302]</span>
for the stew or pie so much relished by the
settlers.</p>

<p>The majority of the pioneer boys were not
expected to be particular as to whether they did
men&#8217;s work or women&#8217;s work, and William was
a notable example of versatility, lending a hand
with helpless babies, cooking or washing, the
most patient and faithful of nurses, lifting many
a burden from the tired house-mother.</p>

<p>He was a total abstainer from intoxicants
and tobacco, and to the amusement of his friends
said he &#8220;could not see any sense in jumping
around the room,&#8221; as he described the social
dance. It surprised no one, therefore, that he
should grow up straight and vigorous, able to
endure many hardships.</p>

<p>William was a very Nimrod by the time he
reached his majority, a fine shot with the rifle
and successful in killing large game. As he
came in sight one day on the trail to our camp in
the deep forest, he appeared carrying the blackest
and glossiest of bear cubs slung over one
shoulder. I called to him, &#8220;Halt, if you please,
and let me sketch you right there.&#8221; He obligingly
consented and in a few moments bear, gun
and hunter were transferred to paper. And a
good theme it was; with a background of dark
firs and cedars, in a mass of brightest green
ferns, stood the stalwart figure, clad in vivid
scarlet and black, gun on one shoulder and bear
cub on the other.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 303]</span>William Boren was an active and useful
member of the M. E. or &#8220;White Church&#8221; in
Seattle many years ago. This was the first
church established in Seattle.</p>

<p>He removed from the settlement and lived
on a ranch for a number of years.</p>

<p>For a time in youth he was in the mining
district; while there he imposed upon himself
heavy burdens, packing as much as two hundred
pounds over the trail.</p>

<p>This was probably overexertion; also in
later years, heavy lifting in a logging camp may
have helped break his naturally strong constitution.</p>

<p>Many muscular and vigorous persons do not
realize the necessity for caution in exertion. I
have seen strong young men balancing their
weight against the &#8220;hold&#8221; of huge stumps, by
hanging across a large pole in mid-air.</p>

<p>During his ranch life he was waylaid, basely
and cruelly attacked and beaten into insensibility
by two ruffians. Most likely this caused the fatal
brain trouble from which he died in January,
1899, at the home of his sister, Gertrude Boren,
who through a long illness cared for him with
affectionate solicitude.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,</span>
<span class="i0">A kingdom won without the guilt</span>
<span class="i0">Of studied battle; that hath been</span>
<span class="i0">Your blood&#8217;s inheritance.</span>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 304]</span></p>
<hr style="width: 45%;" />
<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Yea, Time, the grand old harvester,</span>
<span class="i0">Has gathered you from wood and plain.</span>
<span class="i0">We call to you again, again;</span>
<span class="i0">The rush and rumble of the car</span>
<span class="i0">Comes back in answer. Deep and wide</span>
<span class="i0">The wheels of progress have passed on;</span>
<span class="i0">The silent pioneer is gone.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page305" name="page305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI.<br />

<span class="smaller">ARTHUR A. DENNY.</span></h2>

<p class="title">(Born June 20th, 1822, Died January 9th, 1889.)</p>

<p>A ponderous volume of biography could
scarcely set forth the journeyings, experiences,
efforts, achievements and character of this well-known
pioneer of the Northwest Coast. He was
one of the foremost of the steadfast leaders of
the pioneers. A long, useful and worthy life he
spent among men, the far-reaching influence of
which cannot be estimated. When he passed
away both private citizens and public officials
honored him; those who had known him far back
in his youth and through the intervening years
said of the eulogies pronounced upon his life,
&#8220;Well, it is all true, and much more might be
said.&#8221;</p>

<p>A. A. Denny was a son of John Denny and
brother of David Thomas Denny; each of them
exerted a great influence on the life and institutions
of the Northwest.</p>

<p>From sketches published in the local papers
I have made these selections:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The Dennys are a very ancient family of
England, Ireland and Scotland. The present
branch traces its ancestry from Ireland to
America through great-grandparents, David<span class="pagenum">[Pg 306]</span>
and Margaret Denny, who settled in Berks
County, Pennsylvania, previous to the revolutionary
war. There Robert Denny, the grandfather
of A. A. Denny was born in 1753. In
early life he removed to Frederick County, Virginia,
where in 1778 he married Rachel Thomas;
and about 1790 removed to and settled in Mercer
County, Kentucky.</p>

<p>&#8220;There John Denny, father of the deceased,
was born May 4, 1793, and was married August
25, 1814, to Sarah Wilson, daughter of Bassel
and Ann (Scott) Wilson, who was born in the
old town of Bladensburg, near Washington City,
February 3, 1797. Her parents came to America
in an early day.</p>

<p>&#8220;Their paternal and maternal grandparents
served in the revolutionary war. The former
belonged to Washington&#8217;s command at the time
of Braddock&#8217;s defeat.</p>

<p>&#8220;John Denny was a soldier in the war of
1812, being in Col. Richard M. Johnson&#8217;s regiment
of Kentucky volunteers. He was also an
ensign in Capt. McFee&#8217;s company, and was with
Gen. Harrison at the battle of the Thames, when
Proctor was defeated and the noted Tecumseh
killed. He was a member of the Illinois legislature
in 1840 and 1841, with Lincoln, Yates,
Bates and others, who afterwards became renowned
in national affairs. In politics he was
first a Whig and afterward a Republican. For
many years he was a Justice of the Peace. He<span class="pagenum">[Pg 307]</span>
died July 28th, 1875, when 83 years of age. His
first wife died March 21st, 1841, when 44 years
of age.</p>

<p>&#8220;About 1816 John Denny and his family
removed to Washington County, Indiana, and
settled near Salem, where Arthur A. Denny was
born June 20th, 1822. One year later they removed
to Putnam County, six miles east from
Greencastle, where they remained twelve years,
and from there went to Knox County, Illinois.
Mr. A. A. Denny has said of his boyhood:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;My early education began in the log
schoolhouse so familiar to the early settler in
the West. The teachers were paid by subscription,
so much per pupil, and the schools rarely
lasted more than half the year, and often but
three months. Among the earliest of my recollections
is of my father hewing out a farm in the
beech woods of Indiana, and I well remember
that the first school that I attended was two and
a half miles from my home. When I became
older it was often necessary for me to attend to
home duties half of the day before going to
school a mile distant. By close application I
was able to keep up with my class.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;My opportunities to some extent improved
as time advanced. I spent my vacations
with an older brother at carpenter and joiner
work to obtain the means to pay my expenses
during term time.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>A. A. Denny was married November 23,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 308]</span>
1843, to Mary Ann Boren, to whom he has paid
a graceful and well-deserved tribute in these
words:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;She has been kind and indulgent to all my
faults, and in cases of doubt and difficulty in the
long voyage we have made together she has always
been, without the least disposition to dictate,
a safe and prudent adviser.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>He held many public offices, each and all
of which he filled with scrupulous care, from
county supervisor in Illinois in 1843 to first postmaster
of Seattle in 1853. He was elected to the
legislature of Washington Territory, serving
for nine consecutive sessions, being the speaker
of the third; was registrar of the U. S. Land
Office at Olympia from 1861 to 1865. He was a
member of the Thirty-ninth Congress, being a
delegate from Washington Territory. Even in
his age he was given the unanimous vote of the
Republicans for U. S. Senator from the State of
Washington.</p>

<p>His business enterprises date from the
founding of the City of Seattle and are interwoven
with its history.</p>

<p>He was a volunteer in the war against the
Indians and had some stirring experiences. In
his book, &#8220;Pioneer Days on Puget Sound,&#8221; he
gives a very clear and accurate account of the
beginning of the trouble with the Indians and
many facts concerning the war following.</p>

<p>He found, as many others did, good and true<span class="pagenum">[Pg 309]</span>
friends, as well as enemies, among the Indians.
On page 68 of the work mentioned may be found
these words: &#8220;I will say further, that my acquaintance
and experience with the Puget Sound
Indians proved them to be sincere in their
friendship, and no more unfaithful and treasonable
than the average white man, and I am disposed
to believe that the same might be truthfully
said of many other Indians.&#8221;</p>

<p>With regard to the dissatisfied tenderfoot
he says: &#8220;All old settlers know that it is a common
occurrence for parties who have reached
here by the easy method of steamer or railway
in a palace car to be most blindly unreasonable
in their fault-finding, and they are often not
content with abusing the country and climate,
but they heap curses and abuse on those who
came before them by the good old method of
ninety or a hundred days crossing the plains,
just as though we had sent for them and thus
given them an undoubted right to abuse us for
their lack of good strong sense. Then we all
know, too, that it as been a common occurrence
for those same fault-finders to leave, declaring
that the country was not fit for civilized people
to live in; and not by any means unusual for the
same parties to return after a short time ready to
settle down and commence praising the country,
as though they wanted to make amends for their
unreasonable behavior in the first instance.&#8221;</p>

<p>There are a good many other pithy remarks<span class="pagenum">[Pg 310]</span>
in this book, forcible for their truth and simplicity.</p>

<p><a id="page310" name="page310"></a></p>

<p>As the stories of adventure have an imperishable
fascination, I give his own account of
the discovery of Shilshole or Salmon Bay:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;When we selected our claims we had fears
that the range for our stock would not afford
them sufficient feed in the winter, and it was
not possible to provide feed for them, which
caused us a great deal of anxiety. From statements
made by the Indians, which we could then
but imperfectly understand, we were led to believe
that there was prairie or grass lands to the
northwest, where we might find feed in case of
necessity, but we were too busy to explore until
in December, 1852, when Bell, my brother, D. T.
Denny, and myself determined to look for the
prairie. It was slow and laborious traveling
through the unbroken forest, and before we had
gone far Bell gave out and returned home, leaving
us to proceed alone. In the afternoon we
unexpectedly came to a body of water, and at
first thought we had inclined too far eastward
and struck the lake, but on examination we found
it to be tidewater. From our point of observation
we could not see the outlet to the Sound,
and our anxiety to learn more about it caused us
to spend so much time that when we turned
homeward it soon became so dark that we were
compelled to camp for the night without dinner,
supper or blankets, and we came near being with<span class="pagenum">[Pg 311]</span>out
fire also, as it had rained on us nearly all
day and wet our matches so that we could only
get fire by the flash of a rifle, which was exceedingly
difficult under the circumstances.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>D. T. Denny remembers that A. A. Denny
pulled some of the cotton wadding out of his
coat and then dug into a dead fir tree that was
dry inside and put it in with what other dry
stuff they could find, which was very little, and
D. T. Denny fired off his gun into it with the
muzzle so close as to set fire to it.</p>

<p>He also relates that he shot a pheasant and
broiled it before the fire, dividing it in halves.</p>

<p>A. A. Denny further says:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Our camp was about midway between the
mouth of the bay and the cove, and in the morning
we made our way to the cove and took the
beach for home. Of course, our failing to return
at night caused great anxiety at home, and soon
after we got on the beach we met Bell coming
on hunt of us, and the thing of most interest to
us just then was he had his pockets filled with
hard bread.</p>

<p>&#8220;This was our first knowledge of Shilshole
Bay, which, we soon after fully explored, and
were ready to point newcomers in that direction
for locations.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Old Salmon Bay Curley had told them there
was grass in that region, which was true they
afterward learned, but not prairie grass, it was<span class="pagenum">[Pg 312]</span>
salt marsh, in sufficient quantity to sustain the
cattle.</p>

<p>Speaking of the Indians, he tells how they
settled around the cabins of the whites at Alki
until there were perhaps a thousand, and relates
this incident: &#8220;On one occasion during the
winter, Nelson (Chief Pialse) came with a party
of Green River and Muckilshoot Indians, and
got into an altercation with John Kanem and the
Snoqualmies. They met and the opposing
forces, amounting to thirty or forty on a side,
drew up directly in front of Low&#8217;s house, armed
with Hudson Bay muskets, the two parties near
enough together to have powder-burnt each
other, and were apparently in the act of opening
fire, when we interposed and restored peace without
bloodshed, by my taking John Kanem away
and keeping them apart until Nelson and his
party left.&#8221;</p>

<p>His daughter, Lenora Denny, related the
same incident to me. She witnessed it as a little
child and remembers it perfectly, together with
her fright at the preparations for battle, and
added that Kanem desired her father at their
conference behind the cabin just to let him go
around behind the enemy&#8217;s line of battle and
stab their chief; nobody would know who did it
and that would be sufficient in lieu of the proposed
fight. Mr. Denny dissuaded him and the
&#8220;war&#8221; terminated as above stated.</p>

<p>In the fall of 1855, the Indians exhibited<span class="pagenum">[Pg 313]</span>
more and more hostility toward the whites, and
narrow escapes were not uncommon before the
war fairly broke out.</p>

<p><a id="page313" name="page313"></a></p>

<p>About this time as A. A. Denny was making
a canoe voyage from Olympia down the Sound
he met with a thrilling experience.</p>

<p>When he and his two Indian canoemen were
opposite a camp of savages on the beach, they
were hailed by the latter with:</p>

<p>&#8220;Who is it you have in the canoe and where
are you going?&#8221; spoken in their native tongue.
After calling back and forth for some little
time, two of them put out hastily in a canoe to
overtake the travelers, keeping up an earnest
and excited argument with one of Mr. Denny&#8217;s
Indians, both of whom he observed never ceased
paddling. One of the strangers was dressed up
in war-paint and had a gun across his lap; he
kept up the angry debate with one of the travelers
while the other was perfectly silent.</p>

<p>Finally the pursuers were near enough so
that one reached out to catch hold of the canoe
when Denny&#8217;s men paddled quickly out of reach
and increased their speed to a furious rate, continuing
to paddle with all their might until a
long distance from their threatening visitors.
Although Mr. Denny did not understand their
speech, their voices and gestures were not difficult
to interpret; he felt they wished to kill
him and thought himself lost.</p>

<p>He afterward learned that his canoeman,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 314]</span>
who had answered the attacking party, had saved
his life by his courage and cunning. The savages
from the camp had demanded that Mr.
Denny be given up to them that they might kill
him in revenge for the killing of some Indians,
saying he was a &#8220;hyas tyee&#8221; (great man) and a
most suitable subject for their satisfaction.</p>

<p>He had answered that Mr. Denny was not
near so high up nor as great as some others and
was always a good friend of the Indians and then
carried him to a place of safety by fast and furious
paddling. The one who was silent during
the colloquy declared afterward that he said
nothing for fear they would kill him too.</p>

<p>This exhibition of faithfulness on the part
of Indian hirelings is worthy of note in the face
of many accusations of treachery on the part
of their race.</p>

<p>It is my opinion that Arthur Armstrong
Denny led an exemplary life and that he ever desired
to do justice to others. If he failed in doing
so, it was the fault of those with whom he was
associated rather than his own.</p>

<p>A leading trait in his character was integrity,
another was the modesty that ever accompanies
true greatness, noticeable also in his well
known younger brother, D. T. Denny; neither has
been boastful, arrogant or grasping for public
honors.</p>

<p>A. A. Denny fought the long battle of the
pioneer faithfully and well and sleeps in an honored
grave.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 315]</span></p>
<p class="title">MARY A. DENNY.</p>

<p>Mary Ann Boren (Denny) was born in Tennessee,
November 25th, 1822, the first child of
Richard Boren and Sarah Latimer Boren (afterward
Denny). Her grandfather Latimer, a kind
hearted, sympathetic man, sent a bottle of camphor
to revive the pale young mother. This
camphor bottle was kept in the family, the children
resorting to it for the palliation of cuts and
bruises throughout their adolescence, and it is
now preserved by her own family as a cherished
relic, having seen eighty years and more since
its presentation.</p>

<p>After the death of her father, leaving her
mother a young widow with three small children,
they lived in Illinois as pioneers, where Mary
shared the toils, dangers and vicissitudes of frontier
life. Was not this the school for the greater
pioneering of the farthest west?</p>

<p>November 23rd, 1843, she married Arthur A.
Denny, a man who both recognized and acknowledged
her worth.</p>

<p>When she crossed the plains in 1851 with
the Denny company, Mrs. Denny was a young
matron of twenty-nine years, with two little
daughters. The journey, arduous to any, was
peculiarly trying to her with the helpless ones to
care for and make as comfortable as such tenting
in the wilds might be.</p>

<p>At Fort Laramie her own feet were so un<span class="pagenum">[Pg 316]</span>comfortable
in shoes that she put on a pair of
moccasins which David T. Denny had bought of
an Indian and worn for one day. Mrs. Denny
wore them during the remainder of the journey
to Portland.</p>

<p><a id="page316" name="page316"></a></p>

<p>One incident among many serves to show her
unfaltering courage; an Indian reached into her
wagon to take the gun hung up inside: Mrs. Mary
A. Denny pluckily seized a hatchet and drew it
to strike a vigorous blow when the savage suddenly
withdrew, doubtless with an increased respect
for white squaws in general and this one in
particular.</p>

<p>The great journey ended, at Portland her
third child, Rolland H., was born. If motherhood
be a trial under the most favorable circumstances,
what must it have been on the long
march?</p>

<p>On the stormy and dangerous trip from
Portland on the schooner Exact, out over the
bar and around Cape Flattery to the landing at
Alki Point, went the little band with this brave
mother and her babe.</p>

<p>On a drizzly day in November, the 13th,
1851, she climbed the bank at Alki Point to the
rude cabin, bare of everything now considered
necessary to begin housekeeping. They were imperfectly
protected from the elements and the
eldest child, Catharine, or Kate as she was called,
yet remembers how the rain dropped on her face
the first night they slept in the unfinished cabin,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 317]</span>
giving her a decided prejudice against camping
out.</p>

<p>The mother&#8217;s health was poor and it became
necessary to provide nourishment for the infant;
as there were no cows within reach, or tinned substitutes,
the experiment of feeding him on clam
juice was made with good effect.</p>

<p>Louisa Boren Denny, her sister, then unmarried,
relates the following incident:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;At Alki Point one day, I stood just within
the door of the cabin and Mary stood just inside;
both of us saw an Indian bob up from behind
the bank and point his gun directly at my
sister Mary and almost immediately lower it
without firing.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Mary A. Denny, when asked recently what
she thought might have been his reason for doing
so replied, &#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t know, unless it
was just to show what he could do; it was Indian
Jim; I suppose he did it to show that he could
shoot me if he wanted to.&#8221;</p>

<p>Probably he thought to frighten her at least,
but with the customary nerve of the pioneer woman,
she exhibited no sign of fear and he went his
way.</p>

<p>They afterward learned that on the same
evening there had been some trouble with the
Indians at the Maple Place and it was thought
that this Indian was one of the disaffected or a
sympathizer.</p>

<p>Mrs. Mary A. Denny moved about from<span class="pagenum">[Pg 318]</span>
place to place, living first in the cabin at Alki
Point, then a cabin on Elliott Bay, on the north
end of their claim, then another cabin near the
great laurel tree, on the site of the Stevens Hotel,
Seattle. After a time the family went to
Olympia. Her husband was in the Land Office,
was a member of the Territorial Legislature and
Delegate to Congress; all the while she toiled on
in her home with her growing family.</p>

<p>They returned to Seattle and built what was
for those times a very good residence on the corner
of Pike Street and First Avenue, where they
had a fine orchard, and there they lived many
years.</p>

<p>After having struggled through long years
of poverty, not extreme, to be sure, but requiring
much patient toil and endurance, their property
became immensely valuable and they enjoyed
well deserved affluence.</p>

<p>Mrs. Mary A. Denny&#8217;s family consists of
four sons and two daughters; Orion O., the second
son, was the second white child born in Seattle.
Catherine (Denny) Frye, the elder daughter,
was happily married in her girlhood and is
the mother of a most interesting family. Rolland
H., Orion O., A. Wilson and Charles L. Denny,
the four sons, are prominent business men of
Seattle.</p>

<p>Mrs. Denny makes her home with Lenora,
the younger unmarried daughter, at her palatial<span class="pagenum">[Pg 319]</span>
residence in Seattle. The last mentioned is a
traveled, well read woman of most sympathetic
nature, devoted to her friends, one who has shown
kindness to many strangers in times past as they
were guests in her parents&#8217; home.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page320" name="page320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br />

<span class="smaller">HENRY VAN ASSELT OF DUWAMISH.</span></h2>

<p>In the Post-Intelligencer of December 8th
and 9th, 1902, appeared the following sketches of
this well known pioneer:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;At the ripe old age of 85, with the friendship
and affection of every man he knew in this
life, Henry Van Asselt, one of the founders of
King County, and one of the four of the first
white men to set foot on the shores of Elliott
Bay, died yesterday morning at his home, on
Fifteenth Avenue, of paralysis. Mr. Van Asselt,
with Samuel and Jacob Maple and L. M. Collins,
landed in a canoe September 14th, 1851, at the
mouth of the Duwamish River, where it enters
the harbor of Seattle. They had come from the
Columbia River and were more than two months
in advance of Arthur Denny, one of the pioneer
builders of the city of Seattle. Van Asselt&#8217;s
name is perpetuated through the town of Van
Asselt, adjoining the southern limits of the city.
He was well known all over the Puget Sound
country, and he was the last living member of
one of the first bands of white arrivals, on the
shores of Elliott Bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Van Asselt was a Hollander, having
been born in Holland April 11, 1817, two years
after the battle of Waterloo. He was in his<span class="pagenum">[Pg 321]</span>
early youth a soldier in the Holland army during
its dispute with Belgium. An expert marksman
and an indefatigable huntsman, he came to
America in 1850, on a sailing schooner, and a
year later was traveling the trail from the Central
West to California. Instead of going to the
land of gold and sunshine, Van Asselt headed
north, reaching the Columbia River in the fall
of 1850. A year later found him crossing the
Columbia River, after a short sojourn in the mining
camps of Northern California. With three
companions, L. M. Collins, Jacob and Samuel
Maple, Henry Van Asselt made the perilous journey
from the Columbia River to the Sound,
where, near Olympia, he boarded a canoe, and
after two days&#8217; traveling reached the mouth of
the Duwamish River. Ascending the stream to
the junction of the White and Black Rivers, a
distance of only a few miles, he staked out a donation
land claim of 320 acres in the heart of the
richest section of the Duwamish valley.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p class="title">SAID VALUES INCREASED.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The sturdy Hollander cleared the valley
of its primeval forest of firs, and made it truly
blossom with farm products of every description.
The land today (1902) is worth $1,000 an acre
and upwards. At his death, the aged pioneer,
the last of his generation, had in his own name
some 100 odd acres of this land. Not many weeks
ago he had sold twenty-four acres of the old<span class="pagenum">[Pg 322]</span>
homestead as the site of the new rolling mill and
foundry to be constructed by the Vulcan Iron
Works.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Van Asselt was not the least interesting,
by any means, of the old pioneers of King
County. In fact, until his death he was the last
living member of the first group of white men
to set foot on the shores of Elliott Bay. He was
a very devout man, and in the late years of his
life, when he had retired from active business,
it was his custom to spend part of every Sunday
at the county jail, reading to the prisoners excerpts
from holy writ and giving them words of
hopefulness and cheer. This duty was performed
for many years as regularly as was his
attendance at the Methodist Protestant church,
in this city, of which he had been for thirty years
a member. It is to be said of the dead pioneer
that he was universally loved and respected, and
it was his proudest boast that he had never made
an enemy in his life. This was literally true.</p>

<p>&#8220;Crossing the plains in 1850, young Van
Asselt was of great assistance to his party in
procuring game and in driving the hostile Indians
away, because of his superior marksmanship,
which he had acquired as a hunter on the
estates of wealthy residents of his native country.
He landed at Oregon City, Ore., in September,
1850, and the ensuing winter he spent in
mining in California. He accumulated a considerable
sum, and, lured by stories of the richness<span class="pagenum"><a id="page323" name="page323">[Pg 323]</a></span>
and vastness of the great Northwest, he returned
to Portland in 1851, and, crossing the Columbia,
made his way to the Sound country. On this
trip he was accidentally wounded, the bullet being
imbedded in his shoulder. In the days of the
Indian troubles on the Sound, Van Asselt was
safe from the attacks of the hostiles, who held
him in superstitious reverence because of the
fact that he carried a bullet in his body. They
believed that he could not be killed by a tomahawk.
This fact, perhaps, had much to do with
his escape from assassination at the hands of the
hostiles in the Indian war of 1855.</p>

<p>&#8220;Jacob and Samuel Maple, who with L. M.
Collins accompanied Mr. Van Asselt to Puget
Sound, have been dead many years. Arthur A.
Denny has been gathered to his fathers, along
with many others of the old pioneers of King
County and Washington. Van Asselt is the last
of that hardy race that opened the wilderness on
Puget Sound and made it blossom like the rose.</p>

<p>&#8220;The news of the death of Van Asselt was
received as a sad blow among the people of Van
Asselt, where the aged pioneer spent the greater
portion of his days in the house which still stands
as a monument to his rugged pioneer days. In
Van Asselt the people speak the name of the pioneer
with reverence on account of the many charities
he extended to the poor during his lifetime,
and also on account of the many acts which he<span class="pagenum">[Pg 324]</span>
did in pioneer days to save and maintain the
peaceful relations with the savages.</p>

<p>&#8220;The marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Van Asselt
was celebrated in this county, on Christmas evening
1862. All of those present at the wedding
have now passed away with a few exceptions.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Van Asselt leaves a wife, Mrs. Mary
Jane Maple Van Asselt; a son, Dr. J. H. Van
Asselt; two daughters, Mrs. J. H. Benadom, of
Puyallup, and Dr. Nettie Van Asselt Burling,
and a grandson, Floyd Julian, son of Mrs. Mary
Adriane Van Asselt Julian, who died in 1893.
Mr. Van Asselt also leaves a brother, Rev. Garrett
Van Asselt, of Utrecht, Holland, and several
sisters in Holland.</p>

<p>&#8220;The following were selected as active pallbearers:
William P. Harper, Dexter Horton,
D. B. Ward, O. J. Carr, Isaac Parker, M. R.
Maddocks. The honorary pallbearers were:
Edgar Bryan, Rev. Daniel Bagley, F. M. Guye,
Joseph Foster, William Carkeek, Judge Orange
Jacobs.</p>

<p>&#8220;As illustrative of the regard and esteem
in which this pioneer was held by those who knew
him best, Dexter Horton, the well known banker
and capitalist, who met Mr. Van Asselt in 1852,
said last night:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Van Asselt was a man of sterling
character. His word was as good as a government
bond. I knew him almost from the begin<span class="pagenum">[Pg 325]</span>ning
of his life here. He was one of the kindliest
men I ever met.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;For fifteen years after I came to Seattle
I conducted a general merchandise store here.
There were mighty few of us here in those early
times and we were all intimately acquainted. I
dare say that when a newcomer had resided on
the Sound, anywhere from Olympia to the Strait
of Fuca, for thirty days, I became acquainted
with him. They dropped in here to trade, traveling
in Indian canoes. There never was a man
of them that I did not trust to any reasonable extent
for goods, and my losses on that account in
fifteen years&#8217; dealing with the early settlers were
less than $1,000. This is sufficient testimony as
to the character and integrity of the men who,
like Van Asselt, faced the privations and dangers
of the Western Trail to find homes for themselves
on the Pacific Coast.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Van Asselt located on a level farm in
the Duwamish valley on his arrival here. He was
a man of great energy and thrift, and soon had
good and paying crops growing. He used to
bring his produce to Seattle, either by Indian
canoe, or afterwards, when a trail was cut under
the brow of the hill, by teams. This produce
was readily disposed of, as we had a large number
of men working in the mills and few to supply
their necessities.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;I remember that after he had lived here
for several years he moved to town and estab<span class="pagenum">[Pg 326]</span>lished
a cabinet maker&#8217;s shop. He was an expert
in that line of work. I have an ancient
curly maple bureau which he made for me, and
Mrs. A. A. Denny has another. They are beautifully
fashioned, Van Asselt being well skilled
in the trade. Doubtless others among the old-timers
here have mementos of his handicraft.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Van Asselt was of the type of men who
blazed the path for generations that followed
them to the Pacific Coast. His integrity was unchallenged,
and his charities were numerous and
unostentatious. He used to give every worthy
newcomer work on his ranch, and many an emigrant
in those days got his first start from Henry
Van Asselt.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Samuel Crawford knew Mr. Van Asselt intimately
since 1876. He said last night:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Henry Van Asselt, or Uncle Henry, as
we all called him, spent the winter of 1850-1851
with my great-great-grandfather, Robert Moore,
at Oregon City, Ore., or more properly speaking,
on the west shore of the Willamette, just across
from Oregon City. Mr. Van Asselt told me this
himself. Moore kept a large place, which was a
sort of rendezvous for the immigrants, and many
a man found shelter at his ranch. He gave them
work enough to keep them going, and Van Asselt
found employment with him that winter, making
shingles from cedar bolts with a draw knife.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Van Asselt was one of the best men
that ever lived. His word was as good as gold,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 327]</span>
and he never overlooked a chance to do a friend
a favor. While he spoke English with difficulty,
on occasion he could make a good speech, and he
always took a deep interest in public affairs.
There was probably no important public question
involving the interests of Seattle and the Puget
Sound country but that Mr. Van Asselt had his
say. He did not care for public office, however,
but preferred to go along in his quiet way, doing
all the good that was possible. He firmly believed
in the future of Seattle, which he loved
dearly, and I remember many years ago of his
purchase of two blocks of ground on Renton Hill,
in the vicinity of the residence where he passed
the last years of his life. This was nearly twenty
years ago.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Thomas W. Prosch had known Mr. Van
Asselt for many years. He, too, paid a tribute to
his fine character, and rugged honesty. &#8216;Six
years ago,&#8217; said Mr. Prosch, &#8216;I went to talk with
Mr. Van Asselt regarding his early experiences
on the Sound. He told me of his long and arduous
trip across the plains in 1850, and of his escapades
with the Indians then and afterward.
He said himself that he believed he led a charmed
life, as the Indians took many a shot at him, but
without avail. He was a dead shot himself, and
the Indians had great respect for his skill. He
was a very determined man, and undoubtedly had
a great influence over the savages.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Mr. Van Asselt told me that he met Hill<span class="pagenum">[Pg 328]</span>
Harmon, a well known Oregon settler, in the
spring of 1851, and together they crossed the Columbia
and came to Olympia. From there they
went with two or three others to Nesqually,
where they met Luther M. Collins, one of the
first settlers in King County. Collins endeavored
to persuade them to locate near him, but
they wanted a better place. Finally Collins
brought them to the Duwamish valley and located
them here. One of the party bought Collins&#8217;
place at Nesqually, and he came here to locate
with Van Asselt and the others. Collins&#8217;
family was the first white family to establish a
home in King County.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page329" name="page329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VIII.<br />

<span class="smaller">THOMAS MERCER.</span></h2>

<p>Thomas Mercer was born in Harrison county,
Ohio, March 11, 1813, the eldest of a large
family of children. He remained with his father
until he was twenty-one, gaining a common
school education and a thorough knowledge of
the manufacture of woolen goods. His father
was the owner of a well appointed woolen mill.
The father, Aaron Mercer, was born in Virginia
and was of the same family as General Mercer
of revolutionary fame. His mother, Jane Dickerson
Mercer, was born in Pennsylvania of an
old family of that state.</p>

<p>The family moved to Princeton, Ill., in 1834,
a period when buffalo were still occasionally
found east of the Mississippi river, and savage
Indians annoyed and harassed outlying settlements
in that region. A remarkable coincidence
is a matter of family tradition. Nancy Brigham,
who later became Mr. Mercer&#8217;s wife, and her
family, were compelled to flee by night from
their home near Dixon at the time of the Black
Hawk war, and narrowly escaped massacre. In
1856, about twenty years later, her daughters,
the youngest only eight years old, also made a
midnight escape in Seattle, two thousand miles
away from the scene of their mother&#8217;s adven<span class="pagenum">[Pg 330]</span>ture,
and they endured the terrors of the attack
upon the village a few days later when the shots
and shouts of the thousand painted devils rang
out in the forest on the hillside from a point
near the present gas works to another near where
Madison street ends at First Avenue.</p>

<p class="title">CROSSING THE PLAINS.</p>

<p>In April, 1852, a train of about twenty
wagons, drawn by horses, was organized at
Princeton to cross the plains to Oregon. In this
train were Thomas Mercer, Aaron Mercer, Dexter
Horton, Daniel Bagley, William H. Shoudy,
and their families. Some of these still live in
or near Seattle and others settled in Oregon.
Mr. Mercer was chosen captain of the train and
discharged the arduous duties of that position
fearlessly and successfully. Danger and disease
were on both sides of the long, dreary way, and
hundreds of new made graves were often counted
along the roadside in a day. But this train
seemed to bear a charmed existence. Not a member
of the original party died on the way, although
many were seriously ill. Only one animal
was lost.</p>

<p>As the journey was fairly at an end and
western civilization had been reached at The
Dalles, Oregon, Mrs. Mercer was taken ill, but
managed to keep up until the Cascades were
reached. There she grew rapidly worse and
soon died. Several members of the expedition<span class="pagenum">[Pg 331]</span>
went to Salem and wintered there, and in the
early spring of 1853 Mercer and Dexter Horton
came to Seattle and decided to make it their
home. Mr. Horton entered immediately upon
a business career, the success of which is known
in California, Oregon and Washington, and Mr.
Mercer settled upon a donation claim whose
eastern end was the meander line of Lake Union
and the western end, half way across to the bay.
Mercer street is the dividing line between his
and D. T. Denny&#8217;s claims, and all of these tracts
were included within the city limits about fifteen
years ago.</p>

<p>Mr. Mercer brought one span of horses and
a wagon from the outfit with which he crossed
the plains and for some time all the hauling of
wood and merchandise was done by him. The
wagon was the first one in King county. In
1859 he went to Oregon for the summer and
while there married Hester L. Ward, who lived
with him nearly forty years, dying last November.
During the twenty years succeeding his
settlement here he worked hard clearing the
farm and carrying on dairying and farming in
a small way and doing much work with his team.
In 1873 portions of the farm came into demand
for homes and his sales soon put him in easy
circumstances and in later years made him independent,
though the past few years of hard
times have left but a small part of the estate.</p>

<p>The old home on the farm that the Indians<span class="pagenum">[Pg 332]</span>
spared when other buildings in the county not
protected by soldiers were burned, is still standing
and is the oldest building in the county. Mr.
D. T. Denny had a log cabin on his place which
was not destroyed&mdash;these two alone escaped. The
Indians were asked, after the war, why they
did not burn Mercer&#8217;s house, to which they replied,
&#8220;Oh, old Mercer might want it again.&#8221;
Denny and Mercer had always been particularly
kind to the natives and just in their dealings,
and the savages seem to have felt some little
gratitude toward them.</p>

<p>In the early &#8217;40s Mr. Mercer and Rev. Daniel
Bagley were co-workers in the anti-slavery
cause with Owen Lovejoy, of Princeton, who was
known to all men of that period in the great
Middle West. Later Mr. Mercer joined the Republican
party and has been an ardent supporter
of its men and measures down to the present.
He served ten years as probate judge of King
county, and at the end of that period declined
a renomination.</p>

<p>In early life he joined the Methodist Protestant
church and has ever been a consistent
member of that body. Rev. Daniel Bagley was
his pastor fifty-two years ago at Princeton, and
continued to hold that relation to him in Seattle
from 1860 until 1885, when he resigned his Seattle
pastorate.</p>

<p>To Mr. Mercer belongs the honor of naming
the lakes adjacent to and almost surrounding<span class="pagenum">[Pg 333]</span>
the city. At a social gathering or picnic in 1855
he made a short address and proposed the adoption
of &#8220;Union&#8221; for the small lake between the
bay and the large lake, and &#8220;Washington&#8221; for
the other body of water. This proposition was
received with favor and at once adopted. In
the early days of the county and city he was
always active in all public enterprises, ready
alike with individual effort and with his purse,
according to his ability, and no one of the city&#8217;s
thousands has taken a keener interest or greater
pride than he in the recent development of the
city&#8217;s greatness, although he could no longer
share actively in its accomplishment. He was
exceedingly anxious to see the canal completed
between salt water and the lakes.</p>

<p>His oldest daughter, Mrs. Henry Parsons,
lives near Olympia, and is a confirmed invalid.
The second daughter was the first wife of Walter
Graham, of this place, but died in 1862. The
next younger daughters, Mrs. David Graham
and Mrs. C. B. Bagley, lived near him and cared
for him entirely since the death of Mrs. Mercer
last November. In all the collateral branches
the aged patriarch leaves behind him here in
King county fully half a hundred of relatives of
greater or lesser degrees of kinship.</p>

<p>His generosity and benevolence have ever
been proverbial. The churches, Y. M. C. A.,
orphanages and other objects of public benevolence
and private charity have good cause to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 334]</span>
remember his liberality. In a period of five
years he gave away at least $20,000 in public and
private donations.</p>

<p>Judge Mercer was a charter member of the
Pioneers&#8217; Association, and took great interest
in its affairs. He always made a special effort
to attend the annual meeting, until the last two
years, when his health would not permit.</p>

<p>Another of the band of hardy pioneers who
laid the foundation of the great commonwealth
bounded by California on the south, British Columbia
on the north, the Rocky Mountains on
the east and the illimitable Pacific toward the
setting sun, has gone to rest.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Judge Thomas Mercer died yesterday morning,
May 25th, at 5:15 o&#8217;clock, after a brief illness,
at his home in North Seattle, within a
stone&#8217;s throw of the old homestead where he and
his four motherless daughters, all mere children,
settled in the somber and unbroken forest two
score and five years ago, when the Seattle of
today consisted of a sawmill, a trading post and
less than a half hundred white people.&#8221;&mdash;(From
Post-Intelligencer of May 26th, 1898.)</p></blockquote>

<p>For many years we looked across the valley
to see the smoke from the fire on the Mercer
hearthstone winding skyward, for they were our
only neighbors. Even for this, we were not so
solitary, nor quite so lonely as we must have been
with no human habitation in our view. And
then we felt the kindly presence, sympathy we<span class="pagenum">[Pg 335]</span>
knew we could always claim, the cheerful greetings
and friendly visits.</p>

<p>When his aged pastor, Rev. Daniel Bagley,
with snowy locks, stood above his bier and a troop
of silver-haired pioneers in tearful silence harkened,
he told of fifty years of friendship; how
they crossed the plains together, and of the quiet,
steady, Christian life of Thomas Mercer.</p>

<p>He said, &#8220;Whatever other reasons may have
been given, that he understood some Indians to
say the reason they did not burn Mercer&#8217;s house
during the war, was that Mercer was &#8216;klosh tum-tum,&#8217;
(kind, friendly, literally a good heart), and
&#8216;he wawa-ed Sahale Tyee&#8217; (prayed to the Heavenly
Chief or Great Spirit). Thus did he let
his light shine; even the savages beheld it.&#8221;</p>

<p>In closing a touching, suggestive and affectionate
tribute, he quoted these lines:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;O what hath Jesus bought for me!</span>
<span class="i0">Before my ravish&#8217;d eyes</span>
<span class="i0">Rivers of life divine I see,</span>
<span class="i0">And trees of Paradise;</span>
<span class="i0">I see a world of spirits bright,</span>
<span class="i0">Who taste the pleasures there;</span>
<span class="i0">They all are robed in spotless white,</span>
<span class="i0">And conqu&#8217;ring palms they bear.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p class="title">HESTER L. MERCER.</p>

<p>When a child I often visited this good pioneer
woman&mdash;so faithful, cheerful, kind, self-forgetful.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 336]</span>With busy hands she toiled from morning
to night, scarcely sitting down without some
house-wifely task to occupy her while she
chatted.</p>

<p>Of a very lively disposition, her laugh was
frequent and merry.</p>

<p>A more generous, frank and warm-hearted
nature was hard to find, the demands made upon
it were many and such as to exhaust a shallow
one. Her experiences were varied and thrilling,
as the following account from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer
of November 13th, 1897, will show:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;There is something in the life of this pioneer
woman that makes a lasting impression upon
the minds of those who consider it. Mrs.
Mercer&#8217;s general life differed somewhat from
the lives of many pioneer women in that she
was always a pioneer. Many had given up an
existence in the thickly settled portions of the
east to accept the burdensome, half-civilized life
of the west. They had at least once known the
joys of civilization. It was not so with Mrs.
Mercer. She was a pioneer from the time she
was ushered into the world.</p>

<p>&#8220;She was born in Kentucky. Go back 75
years in the life of that state and you will get
something of its early history. Those who lived
there that long ago were pioneers. Her father
and mother were Jesse and Elizabeth Ward.
They were of that staunch, sturdy people that
struggled to obtain a home and accumulate a lit<span class="pagenum">[Pg 337]</span>tle
fortune in the southern country. Jesse Ward
at the age of 18 joined a regiment of Kentucky
volunteers which was a part of Jackson&#8217;s army
at the defense of New Orleans in 1814.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mrs. Mercer was born in Hartford, the
county seat of Ohio county, Kentucky. She was
but a little tot when her mother died.</p>

<p>&#8220;Her father married again, and children,
issues of the second marriage, had been born
before Mr. Ward and his family said good-bye
to old Kentucky or in reality, young Kentucky,
and moved to Arkansas. That was in 1845.
There they lived until 1853 and Hester Mercer
had a chance of proving her true womanhood.
The family had settled near Batesville, Independence
county. At that time the county had
much virgin soil and it was not a hard matter
to figure up the population of the state. Mrs.
Mercer seemed to be the head of the family.
While the male members of the family were at
work clearing land and establishing what they
thought would be a permanent home, she was
busily occupied in making clothes for herself
and others of the family. And what a task it
was in those days to make clothes. Crude machinery,
in the settled states of the east, turned
out with what was considered wonderful rapidity,
cloth for garments. But the common people
of the West knew nothing of the details of such
luxuries.</p>

<p><a id="XIV" name="XIV"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp337.png" width="500" height="298" alt="" title="ERYTHRONIUM OF LAKE UNION" />
<span class="caption">ERYTHRONIUM OF LAKE UNION</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;Mrs. Mercer, then Hester Ward, took the
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 338]</span>wool from the sheep, cleaned it, wove it, dyed the
cloth, cut and made it into clothing for her father
and brothers. When she wanted a gown she
could have it, that is, after she had gone into
the fields, picked the necessary cotton, developed
it into dress goods and turned the goods into a
garment.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. D. B. Ward, a half brother of Mrs.
Mercer, has in his possession pieces of the goods
out of which she made her gowns when a girl.</p>

<p>&#8220;In 1853, Mr. Ward, having heard so much
of the great opportunities that were offered to
the pioneer who would accept life in the far
West, started with his family and a party of
other pioneers across the great Western plains.
Stories without end could be told of the adventures
and incidents, the results of that long journey.
There were nine children of Mr. Ward in
his party. The start was made March 9, 1853,
and on September 30, Waldo Hills, near Salem,
Oregon, was reached.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Indians, of course, figured in the life
of the Wards while they were crossing the plains,
just as they seemed to come into the life of every
other band of pioneers that undertook the journey.
When about eight miles, by the emigrant
route, east of the North Platte, Mr. Ward&#8217;s
party encountered a big band of Arapahoes.
Every one was a warrior. They were in full
war regalia and dangling from their belts were
dozens of scalps. They had been in battle with<span class="pagenum">[Pg 339]</span>
their enemies, the Blackfeet and Snake River
Indians the day before. Crowned with victory,
they were on their way home to celebrate.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Ward party had been resting in the
woods and were about breaking camp to continue
their journey when the Indian braves made their
appearance. They insisted that they were
friendly, but their behavior was not wholly consistent.
They crowded in and about the wagons,
wanted this and that and finally became impudent
because their requests were denied.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Ward party had an old bugler with
them; when he placed his lips to the bugle something
that bordered on music came from the instrument.
While the Indians were making their
presence known the old bugler grabbed up his
bugle and let out several blasts, which echoed
and re-echoed around. The leaves trembled, the
trees seemed to shake and the Indian braves,
who did not fear an encounter with a thousand
Blackfeet, were dumbfounded. Their heads
went up in the air, the ears of their horses shot
forward. The leader of the braves murmured
a few words in his native tongue and then like
the wind those 400 braves were gone. If the
Great White Father had appeared, as they probably
expected he would, he would have had to
travel many miles to find the Arapahoes.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Ward party was soon out of the woods,
when they met another band. The old chief was
with them. He was mounted on a white mule<span class="pagenum">[Pg 340]</span>
and produced a copy of a treaty with the government
to show that his people loved the white men.</p>

<p>&#8220;Down in the valley through which the pioneers
were compelled to travel they saw many
little tents. Other Indians were camped there.
The old chief and his party accompanied the
emigrants. Every Indian showed an ugly disposition.
The emigrants were compelled to stop
in the midst of the tents in the valley. The old
chief explained through an interpreter that his
people had just come back from a great battle.
They were hungry, he said, and wanted food and
the emigrants would have to give it to them, for
were not these whites, he said, passing through
the sacred land of the Indian?</p>

<p>&#8220;The Ward party was a small one, it could
muster but 22 men. Each man was well armed,
but the Indians were mixing up with them and
it would have been impossible to get together for
united action. It was necessary to submit to the
wishes of the Indians. Bacon, sugar, flour and
crackers were given up and the old chief divided
them among his people.</p>

<p>&#8220;While this division was being made young
braves were busying themselves by annoying the
members of the party. Among the white people
was a young woman who had charge of two
horses attached to a light covered wagon. Several
of the braves took a fancy to her. They
gave the whites to understand that any woman
who could drive horses was all right and must<span class="pagenum"><a id="page341" name="page341">[Pg 341]</a></span>
not go any farther. Mr. Ward and his men had
a hard time keeping the Indians from stealing
the girl. Once they crowded about her and for
a time it was thought she would be taken by
force. The white men and several of the women
went to her rescue. Mrs. Mercer was in the
rescue party. She shoved the Indians right and
left and in the end the girl was rescued and
smuggled into a closed wagon, where she remained
concealed for some hours.</p>

<p>&#8220;Another young woman in the party had
beautiful auburn hair. An Indian warrior took
a fancy to her, thought she was the finest woman
he had ever seen, and said that his people would
compromise if she were given to him for a wife.
Again there was trouble and the girl had to be
hidden in a closed wagon.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Indians kept up their annoyance of the
party for some time, but finally their hunger
got the better of them and they sat down to eat
the food which the Ward party had under compulsion
given them.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Indian chief consented that the white
people should take their departure. They were
quick to do so and were soon some distance from
the Indian camp.</p>

<p>&#8220;After the Wards reached Oregon, Hester
settled down to pioneer life with the other members
of the family, but in the fall of 1859, Thomas
Mercer, then probate judge of King county,
Washington Territory, wooed and won her and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 342]</span>
they were married. The wedding was one of the
important affairs of early days. Rev. Daniel
Bagley, of this city, performed the ceremony.
After Mr. and Mrs. Mercer came to Seattle they
took up their residence in a little house on First
Avenue, near Washington Street. The Mercer
home at present occupies a block of the old donation
claim. The home is on Lombard Street
between Prospect and Villard Avenues.</p>

<p>&#8220;When Mr. and Mrs. Mercer came to Seattle,
John Denny and wife and James Campbell and
wife accompanied them. The three families
swelled the population to thirteen families.</p>

<p>&#8220;D. B. Ward, a half brother of Mrs. Mercer,
also came with them.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Seattle was not a very big city in those
days,&#8217; said Mr. Ward recently in discussing the
matter. &#8216;I remember that soon after my arrival
I thought I would take a walk up in the
woods. I went to the church, which stood where
at present is the Boston National Bank building.
I found windows filled with little holes. It was
a great mystery to me. I went down town and
made inquiry about it and was told that every
hole represented a bullet fired by the Indians
during the fight three years before.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Mrs. Mercer was a woman of many grand
qualities; she never permitted any suffering to
go on about her if she were in a position to relieve
it. She was a good friend of the poor and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 343]</span>
did many kind acts of which the world knew but
little.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>In the latter years of her life she was a
patient, uncomplaining invalid, and finally entered
into rest on the 12th of November, 1897,
having lived in Seattle for thirty-nine years.
She was buried with honor and affection; the
pallbearers were old pioneers averaging a forty
years&#8217; residence in the same place; D. T. Denny,
the longest, being one of the founders, for forty-five
years; they were Dexter Horton, T. D.
Hinckley, D. T. Denny, Edgar Bryan, David
Kellogg and Hans Nelson.</p>

<p>Mr. Mercer, at the age of 84 (in 1897), still
survives her, passing a peaceful old age in the
midst of relatives and friends.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page344" name="page344">[Pg 344]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX.<br />

<span class="smaller">DR. HENRY A. SMITH, THE BRILLIANT WRITER.</span></h2>

<p>This well known pioneer joined the &#8220;mighty
nation moving west&#8221; in 1852. From Portland,
the wayside inn of weary travelers, he pushed
on to Puget Sound, settling in 1853 on Elliott
Bay, at a place known for many years as Smith&#8217;s
Cove.</p>

<p>Being a gifted writer he has made numerous
contributions to northwestern literature, both in
prose and poetry.</p>

<p>In a rarely entertaining set of papers entitled
&#8220;Early Reminiscences,&#8221; he brings vividly
to the minds of his readers the &#8220;good old times&#8221;
on Elliott Bay, as he describes the manner of
life, personal adventure, odd characters and
striking environment of the first decade of settlement.
In them he relates that after the White
River massacre, he conveyed his mother to a
place of safety, by night, in a boat with muffled
oars.</p>

<blockquote><p>To quote his own words: &#8220;Early the next
morning I persuaded James Broad and Charley
Williamson, a couple of harum-scarum run-away
sailors, to accompany me to my ranch in the
cove, where we remained two weeks securing
crops. We always kept our rifles near us while
working in the field, so as to be ready for emerg<span class="pagenum">[Pg 345]</span>encies,
and brave as they seemed their faces several
times blanched white as they sprang for
their guns on hearing brush crack near them,
usually caused by deer. One morning on going
to the field where we were digging potatoes, we
found fresh moccasin tracks, and judged from
the difference in the size of the tracks that at
least half a dozen savages had paid the field a
visit during the night. As nothing had been
disturbed we concluded that they were waiting
in ambush for us and accordingly we retired to
the side of the field farthest from the woods and
began work, keeping a sharp lookout the while.
Soon we heard a cracking in the brush and a
noise that sounded like the snapping of a flintlock.
We grabbed our rifles and rushed into
the woods where we heard the noise, so as to
have the trees for shelter, and if possible to draw
a bead on the enemy. On reaching shelter, the
crackling sound receded toward Salmon Bay.
But fearing a surprise if we followed the sound
of retreat, we concluded to reach the Bay by
way of a trail that led to it, but higher up; we
reached the water just in time to see five redskins
land in a canoe, on the opposite side of the
Bay where the Crooks&#8217; barn now stands. After
that I had hard work to keep the runaways until
the crop was secured, and did so only by keeping
one of them secreted in the nearest brush constantly
on guard. At night we barred the doors
and slept in the attic, hauling the ladder up after<span class="pagenum">[Pg 346]</span>
us. Sometimes, when the boys told blood-curdling
stories until they became panicky by their
own eloquence, we slept in the woods, but that
was not often.</p>

<p>&#8220;In this way the crops were all saved, cellared
and stacked, only to be destroyed afterward
by the torch of the common enemy.</p>

<p>&#8220;Twice the house was fired before it was
finally consumed, and each time I happened to
arrive in time to extinguish the flames, the incendiaries
evidently having taken to their heels
as soon as the torch was applied.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>While yet new to the country he met with
an adventure not uncommon to the earliest settlers
in the great forest, recorded as follows:</p>

<p>&#8220;I once had a little experience, but a very
amusing one, of being &#8216;lost.&#8217; In the summer of
1854, I concluded to make a trail to Seattle. Up
to that time I had ridden to the city in a &#8216;Chinook
buggy.&#8217; One bright morning I took a compass
and started for Seattle on as nearly a
straight line as possible. After an hour&#8217;s travel
the sun was hid by clouds and the compass had
to be entirely relied upon for the right course.
This was tedious business, for the woods had
never been burned, and the old fallen timber
was almost impassable. About noon I noticed
to my utter astonishment, that the compass had
reversed its poles. I knew that beds of mineral
would sometimes cause a variation of the needle
and was delighted at the thought of discovering<span class="pagenum">[Pg 347]</span>
a <i>valuable iron mine</i> so near salt water. A good
deal of time was spent in breaking bushes and
thoroughly marking the spot so that there would
be no difficulty in finding it again, and from that
on I broke bushes as I walked, so as to be able to
easily retrace my steps. From that place I followed
the compass <i>reversed</i>, calculating, as I
walked, the number of ships that would load annually
at Seattle with pig-iron, and the amount
of ground that would be eventually covered at
the cove with furnaces, rolling mills, foundries,
tool manufacturing establishments, etc.</p>

<p>&#8220;As night came on I became satisfied that I
had traveled too far to the east, and had passed
Seattle, and the prospect of spending a night in
the woods knocked my iron calculations into pi.
Soon, however, I was delighted to see a clearing
ahead, and a shake-built shanty that I concluded
must be the ranch that Mr. Nagle had commenced
improving some time before, and which,
I had understood, lay between Seattle and Lake
Washington. When I reached the fence surrounding
the improvements, I seated myself on
one of the top rails for a seat and to ponder the
advisability of remaining with my new neighbor
over night, or going on to town. While sitting
thus, I could not help contrasting his improvements
with my own. The size of the clearing
was the same, the house was a good deal like
mine, the only seeming difference was that the
front of his faced the west, whereas the front of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 348]</span>
mine faced the east. While puzzling over this
strange coincidence, my own mother came out
of the house to feed the poultry that had commenced
going to roost, in a rookery for all the
world like my own, only facing the wrong way.
&#8216;In the name of all that&#8217;s wonderful!&#8217; I thought,
&#8216;what is she doing here? and how did she get
here ahead of me?&#8217; Just then the world took a
spin around, my ranch wheeled into line, and,
lo! I was sitting on my own fence, and had been
looking at my own improvements without knowing
them.&#8221; And from this he draws a moral and
adorns the tale with the philosophic conclusion
that people cannot see and think alike owing to
their point of view, and we therefore must be
charitable.</p>

<p>Until accustomed to it and schooled in wood-craft,
the mighty and amazing forest was bewildering
and mysterious to the adventurous
settler; however, they soon learned how not to
lose themselves in its labyrinthine depths.</p>

<p>Dr. Smith is a past master in description,
as will be seen by this word-picture of a fire in
a vast pitchy and resinous mass of combustible
material. I have witnessed many, each a magnificent
display.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Washington beats the world for variety
and magnificence of awe inspiring mountains
and other scenery. I have seen old ocean in her
wildest moods, have beheld the western prairie
on fire by night, when the long, waving lines of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 349]</span>
flame flared and flashed their red light against
the low, fleecy clouds till they blossomed into
roseate beauty, looking like vast spectral flower
gardens, majestically sweeping through the
heavens; have been in the valley of the river
Platte, when all the windows of the sky and a
good many doors opened at once and the cloud-masked
batteries of the invisible hosts of the
air volleyed and thundered till the earth fairly
reeled beneath the terrific cannonade that tore
its quivering bosom with red-hot bombs until
awe-stricken humanity shriveled into utter nothingness
in the presence of the mad fury of the
mightiest forces of nature. But for magnificence
of sublime imagery and awe-inspiring
grandeur a forest fire raging among the gigantic
firs and towering cedars that mantle the shores
of Puget Sound, surpasses anything I have ever
beheld, and absolutely baffles all attempts at description.
It has to be seen to be comprehended.
The grandest display of forest pyrotechnics is
witnessed when an extensive tract that has been
partly cleared by logging is purposely or accidentally
fired. When thus partly cleared, all the
tops of the fir, cedar, spruce, pine and hemlock
trees felled for their lumber remain on the
ground, their boughs fairly reeking with balsam.
All inferior trees are left standing, and in early
days when only the very choicest logs would be
accepted by the mills, about one-third would be
left untouched, and then the trees would stand<span class="pagenum"><a id="page350" name="page350">[Pg 350]</a></span>
thicker, mightier, taller than in the average
forest of the eastern and middle states.</p>

<p>&#8220;I once witnessed the firing of a two thousand
acre tract thus logged over. It was noon in the
month of August, and not a breath of air moved
the most delicate ferns on the hillsides. The
birds had hushed their songs for their midday
siesta, and the babbling brook at our feet had
grown less garrulous, as if in sympathy with the
rest of nature, when the torch was applied. A
dozen or more neighbors had come together to
witness the exhibition of the unchained element
about to hold high carnival in the amphitheater
of the hills, and each one posted himself, rifle in
hand, in some conspicuous place at least a quarter
of a mile from the slashing in order to get a
shot at any wild animal fleeing from the &#8216;wrath
to come.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;The tract was fired simultaneously on all
sides by siwashes, who rapidly circled it with
long brands, followed closely by rivers of flame
in hot pursuit.</p>

<p>&#8220;As soon as the fire worked its way to the
massive winrows of dry brush, piled in making
roads in every direction, a circular wall of solid
flame rose half way to the tops of the tall trees.
Soon the rising of the heated air caused strong
currents of cooler air to set in from every side.
The air currents soon increased to cyclones.
Then began a race of the towering, billowy, surging
walls of fire for the center. Driven furiously<span class="pagenum">[Pg 351]</span>
on by these ever-increasing, eddying, and fiercely
contending tornadoes, the flames lolled and
rolled and swayed and leaped, rising higher and
higher, until one vast, circular tidal wave of
liquid fire rolled in and met at the center with
the whirl and roar of pandemoniac thunder and
shot up in a spiral and rapidly revolving red-hot
cone, a thousand feet in mid-air, out of whose
flaring and crater-like apex poured dense volumes
of tarry smoke, spreading out on every
side, like unfolding curtains of night, till the
sun was darkened and the moon was turned to
blood and the stars seemed literally raining from
heaven, as glowing firebrands that had been
carried up by the fierce tornado of swirling flame
and carried to immense distances by upper air
currents, fell back in showers to the ground.
The vast tract, but a few moments before as
quiet as a sleeping infant in its cradle, was now
one vast arena of seething, roaring, raging flame.
The long, lithe limbs of the tall cedars were tossing
wildly about, while the strong limbs of the
sturdier firs and hemlocks were freely gyrating
like the sinewy arms of mighty giant athletes
engaged in mortal combat. Ever and anon their
lower, pitch-dripping branches would ignite
from the fervent heat below, when the flames
would rush to the very tops with the roar of contending
thunders and shoot upward in bright
silvery volumes from five to seven hundred feet,
or double the height of the trees themselves.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page352" name="page352">[Pg 352]</a></span>
Hundreds of these fire-volumes flaring and flaming
in quick succession and sometimes many of
them simultaneously, in conjunction with the
weird eclipse-like darkness that veiled the heavens,
rendered the scene one of awful grandeur
never to be forgotten.</p>

<p>&#8220;So absorbed were we all in the preternatural
war of the fiercely contending elements that we
forgot our guns, our game and ourselves.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>&#8220;The burnt district, after darkness set in,
was wild and weird in the extreme. The dry
bark to the very tops of the tall trees was on fire
and constantly falling off in large flakes, and
the air was filled ever and anon with dense showers
of golden stars, while the trees in the environs
seemed to move about through the fitful shadows
like grim brobdignags clad in sheeny armor.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Having witnessed many similar conflagrations
I am able to say that the subject could
scarcely be better treated.</p>

<p>Through the courtesy of the author, Dr. H.
A. Smith, I have been permitted to insert the
following poem, which has no doubt caused many
a grim chuckle and scowl of sympathy, too, from
the old pioneers of the Northwest:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i5">"THE MORTGAGE.</span>
<br />
<span class="i0">&#8220;The man who holds a mortgage on my farm</span>
<span class="i0">And sells me out to gratify his greed,</span>
<span class="i0">Is shielded by our shyster laws from harm,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 353]</span><span class="i0">And ever laud for the dastard deed!</span>
<span class="i0">Though morally the man is really worse</span>
<span class="i0">Than if he knocked me down and took my purse;</span>
<span class="i0">The last would mean, at most, a moment&#8217;s strife,</span>
<span class="i0">The first would mean the struggle of a life,</span>
<span class="i0">And homeless children wailing in the cold,</span>
<span class="i0">A prey to want and miseries manifold;</span>
<span class="i0">Then if I loot him of his mangy pup</span>
<span class="i0">The guardians of the law will lock me up,</span>
<span class="i0">And jaundiced justice fly into a rage</span>
<span class="i0">While pampered Piety askance my rags will scan,</span>
<span class="i0">And Shylock shout, &#8216;Behold a dangerous man!&#8217;</span>
<span class="i0">But notwithstanding want to Heaven cries,</span>
<span class="i0">And villains masquerade in virtue&#8217;s guise,</span>
<span class="i0">And Liberty is moribund or dead&mdash;</span>
<span class="i0">Except for men who corporations head&mdash;</span>
<span class="i0">One little consolation still remains,</span>
<span class="i0">The human race will one day rend its chains.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>In transcribing Indian myths and religious
beliefs, Dr. Smith displays much ability. After
having had considerable acquaintance with the
native races, he concludes that &#8220;Many persons
are honestly of the opinion that Indians have no
ideas above catching and eating salmon, but if
they will lay aside prejudice and converse freely
with the more intelligent natives, they will soon
find that they reason just as well on all subjects
that attract their attention as we do, and being
free from pre-conceived opinions, they go directly
to the heart of theories and reason both
inductively and deductively with surprising
clearness and force.&#8221;</p>

<p>Dr. Smith exhibits in his writings a broadly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page354" name="page354">[Pg 354]</a></span>
charitable mind which sees even in the worst,
still some lingering or smothered good.</p>

<p>Dr. Smith is one of a family of patriots;
his great-grandfather, Copelton Smith, who
came from Germany to America in 1760 and
settled in or near Philadelphia, Pa., fought for
liberty in the war of the Revolution under General
Washington. His father, Nicholas Smith,
a native of Pennsylvania, fought for the Stars
and Stripes in 1812. Two brothers fought for
Old Glory in the war of the Rebellion, and he
himself was one of the volunteers who fought
for their firesides in the State, then Territory of
Washington.</p>

<p>&#8220;A family of fighters,&#8221; as he says, &#8220;famous
for their peaceful proclivities when let alone.&#8221;</p>

<p>The varied experiences of life in the Northwest
have developed in him a sane and sweet
philosophy, perhaps nowhere better set forth in
his writings than in his poem &#8220;Pacific&#8217;s Pioneers,&#8221;
read at a reunion of the founders of the
state a few years ago, and with which I close
this brief and inadequate sketch:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i5">&#8220;PACIFIC&#8217;S PIONEERS.</span>
<br />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;A greeting to Pacific&#8217;s Pioneers,</span>
<span class="i0">Whose peaceful lives are drawing to a close,</span>
<span class="i0">Whose patient toil, for lo these many years,</span>
<span class="i0">Has made the forest blossom as the rose.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And bright-browed women, bonny, brave and true,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 355]</span><span class="i0">And laughing lasses, sound of heart and head,</span>
<span class="i0">Who home and kindred bade a last adieu</span>
<span class="i0">To follow love where fortune led.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;I do not dedicate these lines alone</span>
<span class="i0">To men who live to bless the world today,</span>
<span class="i0">But I include the nameless and unknown</span>
<span class="i0">The pioneers who perished by the way.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Not for the recreant do my numbers ring,</span>
<span class="i0">The men who spent their lives in sport and spree,</span>
<span class="i0">Nor for the barnacles that always cling</span>
<span class="i0">To every craft that cruises Freedom&#8217;s sea.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;But nearly all were noble, brave and kind,</span>
<span class="i0">And little cared for fame or fashion&#8217;s gyves;</span>
<span class="i0">And though they left their Sunday suits behind</span>
<span class="i0">They practiced pure religion all their lives.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Their love of peace no people could excel,</span>
<span class="i0">Their dash in war the poet&#8217;s pen awaits;</span>
<span class="i0">Their sterling loyalty made possible</span>
<span class="i0">Pacific&#8217;s golden galaxy of states.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;They had no time to bother much about</span>
<span class="i0">Contending creeds that vex the nation&#8217;s Hub,</span>
<span class="i0">But then they left their leather latches out</span>
<span class="i0">To every wandering Arab short of grub.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Cut off from all courts, man&#8217;s earthly shield from harm,</span>
<span class="i0">They looked for help to Him whose court&#8217;s above,</span>
<span class="i0">And learned to lean on labor&#8217;s honest arm,</span>
<span class="i0">And live the higher law, the law of love.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Not one but ought to wear a crown of gold,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 356]</span><span class="i0">If crowns were made for men who do their best</span>
<span class="i0">Amid privations cast and manifold</span>
<span class="i0">That unborn generations may be blest.</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Among these rugged pioneers the rule</span>
<span class="i0">Was equal rights, and all took special pride</span>
<span class="i0">In &#8217;tending Mother Nature&#8217;s matchless school,</span>
<span class="i0">And on her lessons lovingly relied.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And this is doubtless why they are in touch</span>
<span class="i0">With Nature&#8217;s noblemen neath other skies;</span>
<span class="i0">And though of books they may not know as much</span>
<span class="i0">Their wisdom lasts, as Nature never lies.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And trusting God and His unerring plan</span>
<span class="i0">As only altruistic natures could</span>
<span class="i0">Their faith extended to their fellow man,</span>
<span class="i0">The image of the Author of all good.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Since Nature here has done her best to please</span>
<span class="i0">By making everything in beauty&#8217;s mold,</span>
<span class="i0">Loads down with balm of flowers every breeze,</span>
<span class="i0">And runs her rivers over reefs of gold,</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;It seems but natural that men who yearn</span>
<span class="i0">For native skies, and visit scenes of yore,</span>
<span class="i0">Are seldom satisfied till they return</span>
<span class="i0">To roam the Gardens of the Gods once more!</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And since they fell in love with nature here</span>
<span class="i0">How fitting they should wish to fall asleep</span>
<span class="i0">Where sparkling mountain spires soar and spear</span>
<span class="i0">The stainless azure of the upper deep.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And yet we&#8217;re saddened when the papers say</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 357]</span><span class="i0">Another pioneer has passed away!</span>
<span class="i0">And memory recalls when first, forsooth,</span>
<span class="i0">We saw him in the glorious flush of youth.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;How plain the simple truth when seen appears,</span>
<span class="i0">No wonder that faded leaves we fall!</span>
<span class="i0">This is the winter of the pioneers</span>
<span class="i0">That blows a wreath of wrinkles to us all!</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;A few more mounds for faltering feet to seek,</span>
<span class="i0">When, somewhere in this lovely sunset-land</span>
<span class="i0">Like some weird, wintry, weather-beaten peak</span>
<span class="i0">Some rare old Roman all alone will stand.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;But not for long, for ere the rosy dawn</span>
<span class="i0">Of many golden days has come and gone,</span>
<span class="i0">Our pine-embowered bells will shout to every shore</span>
<span class="i0">"Pacific&#8217;s Pioneers are now no more!"</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;But lovely still the glorious stars will glow</span>
<span class="i0">And glitter in God&#8217;s upper deep like pearls</span>
<span class="i0">And mountains too will wear their robes of snow</span>
<span class="i0">Just as they did when we were boys and girls.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Ah well, it may be best, and is, no doubt,</span>
<span class="i0">As death is quite as natural as birth</span>
<span class="i0">And since no storms can blow the sweet stars out,</span>
<span class="i0">Why should one wish to always stay on earth?</span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Especially as God can never change,</span>
<span class="i0">And man&#8217;s the object of His constant care</span>
<span class="i0">And though beyond the Pleiades we range</span>
<span class="i0">His boundless love and mercy must be there.&#8221;</span></div></div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page358" name="page358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER X.<br />

<span class="smaller">FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS.</span></h2>

<p>Sealth or &#8220;Old Seattle,&#8221; a peaceable son of
the forest, was of a line of chieftains, his father,
Schweabe, or Schweahub, a chief before him of
the Suquampsh tribe inhabiting a portion of the
west shore of Puget Sound, his mother, a Duwampsh
of Elliott Bay, whose name was Wood-sho-lit-sa.</p>

<p>Sealth&#8217;s birthplace was the famous Oleman
House, near the site of which he is now buried.
Oleman House was an immense timber structure,
long ago inhabited by many Indians; scarcely a
vestige of it now remains. It was built by
Sealth&#8217;s father. Chief Sealth was twice married
and had three sons and five daughters, the last of
whom, Angeline, or Ka-ki-is-il-ma, passed away
on May 31, 1896. In an interview she informed
me that her grandfather, Schweabe, was a tall,
slim man, while Sealth was rather heavy as well
as tall. Sealth was a hunter, she said, but not a
great warrior. In the time of her youth there
were herds of elk near Oleman House which
Sealth hunted with the bow or gun.</p>

<p>The elk, now limited to the fastnesses of the
Olympic Mountains, were also hunted in the cove
south of West Seattle, by Englishmen, Sealth&#8217;s<span class="pagenum">[Pg 359]</span>
cousin, Tsetseguis, helping, with other Indians,
to carry out the game.</p>

<p>Angeline further said that her father, &#8220;Old
Seattle,&#8221; as the white people called him, inherited
the chiefship when a little boy. As he grew
up he became more important, married, obtained
slaves, of whom he had eight when the Dennys
came, and acquired wealth. Of his slaves, Yutestid
is living (1899) and when reminded of him
she laughed and repeated his name several times,
saying, &#8220;Yutestid! Yutestid! How was it possible
for me to forget him? Why, we grew up together!&#8221;
Yutestid was a slave by descent, as
also were five others; the remaining two he had
purchased. It is said that he bought them out
of pity from another who treated them cruelly.</p>

<p>Sealth, Keokuk, William and others, with
quite a band of Duwampsh and Suquampsh Indians,
once attacked the Chimacums, surrounded
their large house or rancheree at night; at some
distance away they joined hands forming a circle
and gradually crept up along the ground until
quite near, when they sprang up and fired
upon them; the terrified occupants ran out and
were killed by their enemies. On entering they
found one of the wounded crawling around crying
&#8220;Ah! A-ah!&#8221; whom they quickly dispatched
with an ax.</p>

<p>A band of Indians visited Alki in 1851, who
told the story to the white settlers, imitating their<span class="pagenum">[Pg 360]</span>
movements as the attacking party and evidently
much enjoying the performance.</p>

<p>About the year 1841, Sealth set himself to
avenge the death of his nephew, Almos, who was
killed by Owhi. With five canoe loads of his
warriors, among whom was Curley, he ascended
White River and attacked a large camp, killed
more than ten men and carried the women and
children away into captivity.</p>

<p>At one time in Olympia some renegades who
had planned to assassinate him, fired a shot
through his tent but he escaped unhurt. Dr.
Maynard, who visited him shortly after, saw that
while he talked as coolly as if nothing unusual
had occurred, he toyed with his bow and arrow
as if he felt his power to deal death to the plotters,
but nothing was ever known of their punishment.</p>

<p>Sealth was of a type of Puget Sound Indian
whose physique was not by any means contemptible.
Tall, broad shouldered, muscular,
even brawny, straight and strong, they made formidable
enemies, and on the warpath were sufficiently
alarming to satisfy the most exacting
tenderfoot whose contempt for the &#8220;bowlegged
siwash&#8221; is by no means concealed. Many of the
old grizzly-haired Indians were of large frame
and would, if living, have made a towering contrast to
their little &#8220;runts&#8221; of critics.</p>

<p>Neither were their minds dwarfed, for evidently
not narrowed by running in the grooves<span class="pagenum">[Pg 361]</span>
of other men&#8217;s thoughts, they were free to nourish
themselves upon nature and from their magnificent
environment they drew many striking
comparisons.</p>

<p>Not versed in the set phrases of speech, time-worn
and hackneyed, their thoughts were naive,
fresh, crude and angular as the frost-rended
rocks on the mountain side. A number of these
Indians were naturally gifted as orators; with
great, mellow voices, expressive gestures, flaming
earnestness, piteous pathos and scorching
sarcasm, they told their wrongs, commemorated
their dead and declared their friendship or hatred
in a voluminous, polysyllabic language no
more like Chinook than American is like pigeon
English.</p>

<p>The following is a fragment valuable for the
intimation it gives of their power as orators, as
well as a true description of the appearance of
Sealth, written by Dr. H. A. Smith, a well known
pioneer, and published in the Seattle Sunday
Star of October 29, 1877:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Old Chief Seattle was the largest Indian I
ever saw, and by far the noblest looking. He
stood nearly six feet in his moccasins, was broad-shouldered,
deep-chested and finely proportioned.
His eyes were large, intelligent, expressive and
friendly when in repose, and faithfully mirrored
the varying moods of the great soul that looked
through them. He was usually solemn, silent
and dignified, but on great occasions moved<span class="pagenum">[Pg 362]</span>
among assembled multitudes like a Titan among
Lilliputians, and his lightest word was law.</p>

<p>&#8220;When rising to speak in council or to tender
advice, all eyes were turned upon him, and
deep-toned, sonorous and eloquent sentences
rolled from his lips like the ceaseless thunders of
cataracts flowing from exhaustless fountains, and
his magnificent bearing was as noble as that of
the most civilized military chieftain in command
of the force of a continent. Neither his eloquence,
his dignity nor his grace was acquired.
They were as native to his manhood as leaves
and blossoms are to a flowering almond.</p>

<p>&#8220;His influence was marvelous. He might
have been an emperor but all his instincts were
democratic, and he ruled his subjects with kindness
and paternal benignity.</p>

<p>&#8220;He was always flattered by marked attentions
from white men, and never so much as
when seated at their tables, and on such occasions
he manifested more than anywhere else
his genuine instincts of a gentleman.</p>

<p>&#8220;When Governor Stevens first arrived in
Seattle and told the natives that he had been
appointed commissioner of Indian affairs for
Washington Territory, they gave him a demonstrative
reception in front of Dr. Maynard&#8217;s
office near the water front on Main Street. The
bay swarmed with canoes and the shore was lined
with a living mass of swaying, writhing, dusky
humanity, until Old Chief Seattle&#8217;s trumpet-<span class="pagenum">[Pg 363]</span>toned
voice rolled over the immense multitude
like the reveille of a bass drum, when silence became
as instantaneous and perfect as that which
follows a clap of thunder from a clear sky.</p>

<p>&#8220;The governor was then introduced to the
native multitude by Dr. Maynard, and at once
commenced in a conversational, plain and
straightforward style, an explanation of his mission
among them, which is too well understood
to require recapitulation.</p>

<p>&#8220;When he sat down, Chief Seattle arose,
with all the dignity of a senator who carries the
responsibilities of a great nation on his shoulders.
Placing one hand on the governor&#8217;s head, and
slowly pointing heavenward with the index finger
of the other, he commenced his memorable
address in solemn and impressive tones:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yonder sky has wept tears of compassion
on our fathers for centuries untold, and which to
us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair,
tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My
words are like the clouds that never set. What
Seattle says the chief Washington can rely upon,
with as much certainty as our pale-face brothers
can rely upon the return of the seasons. The son
of the white chief says his father sends us greetings
of friendship and good-will. This is kind,
for we know he has little need of our friendship
in return, because his people are many. They are
like the grass that covers the vast prairie, while<span class="pagenum">[Pg 364]</span>
my people are few and resemble the scattering
trees of a storm-swept plain.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;The great, and I presume good, white
chief sends us word that he wants to buy our
lands, but is willing to allow us to reserve enough
to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous,
for the red man no longer has rights that
he need respect, and the offer may be wise also,
for we are no longer in need of a great country.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;There was a time when our people covered
the whole land as the waves of a wind-ruffled
sea covers its shell-paved shore. That time
has long since passed away with the greatness of
tribes almost forgotten. I will not mourn over
our untimely decay, or reproach my pale-face
brothers with hastening it, for we, too, may have
been somewhat to blame.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;When our young men grew angry at some
real or imaginary wrong and disfigured their
faces with black paint, their hearts also are disfigured
and turned black, and then cruelty is relentless
and knows no bounds, and our old men
are not able to restrain them.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;He continued in this eloquent strain and
closed by saying: &#8216;We will ponder your proposition
and when we have decided we will tell you,
but should we accept it I here and now make this
first condition: That we shall not be denied the
privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will
the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every
part of this country is sacred to my people; ev<span class="pagenum">[Pg 365]</span>ery
hillside, every valley, every plain and grove
has been hallowed by some fond memory or some
sad experience of my tribe.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb, as
they swelter in the sun, along the silent seashore
in solemn grandeur, thrill with memories of past
events, connected with the fate of my people and
the very dust under our feet responds more lovingly
to our footsteps than to yours, because it is
the ashes of our ancestors and their bare feet are
conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil
is rich with the life of our kindred. At night
when the streets of your cities and villages shall
be silent and you think them deserted they will
throng with the returning hosts that once filled
and still love this beautiful land. The white man
will never be alone. Let him be just and deal
kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether
powerless.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Concerning the well-known portrait of
Sealth, Clarence Bagley has this to say:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;It was in the early summer of 1865 that the
original picture which is now so much seen of the
old chief was taken. I think I probably have a
diary giving the day upon which the old chief sat
for his picture. An amateur artist named E. M.
Sammis had secured a camera at Olympia and
coming to Seattle established himself in a ramshackle
building at the southeast corner of what
is now Main and First Avenue South. Old Chief
Seattle used often to hang about the gallery and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 366]</span>
scrutinize the pictures with evident satisfaction.
I myself spent not a little time in and about the
gallery and on the particular day the picture of
the old chief was taken, was there. It occurred
to the photographer to get a picture of the chief.
The latter was easily persuaded to sit and it is a
wrong impression, that has become historic, that
the Indians generally were afraid of the photographer&#8217;s
art, considering it black magic.</p>

<p>&#8220;The chief&#8217;s picture was taken and I printed
the first copy taken from the negative. There
may possibly have been photographs taken of
the old chief at a later date, but I do not remember
any, certainly none earlier, that I ever knew
of.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>With regard to Sealth&#8217;s oratory, D. T. Denny
relates that when the chief with his &#8220;tillicum&#8221;
camped on the &#8220;Point&#8221; near the site of the New
England Hotel, often in the evening he would
stand up and address his people. D. T. Denny&#8217;s
home was near the site of the Stevens Hotel
(Marion and First Avenue, Seattle), and many
Indians were camped near by. When these heard
Chief Sealth&#8217;s voice, they would turn their heads
in a listening attitude and evidently understood
what he was saying, although he was about three-fourths
of a mile away, such was the resonance
and carrying power of his voice.</p>

<p>My father has also related to me this incident:
Sealth and his people camped alongside
the little white settlement at Alki. While there<span class="pagenum">[Pg 367]</span>
one of his wives died and A. A. Denny made a
coffin for the body, but they wrapped the same
in so many blankets that it would not go in and
they were obliged to remove several layers, although
they probably felt regret as the number
of wrappings no doubt evidenced wealth and
position.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny was well acquainted with
George Seattle, or See-an-ump-kun, one of
Sealth&#8217;s sons, who was a friendly, good-natured
Indian, married to a woman of the Sklallam
tribe. The other surviving son when the whites
arrived, was called Jim Seattle.</p>

<p>Thlid Kanem was a cousin of Sealth.</p>

<p>On the 7th of June, 1866, the famous old
chieftain joined the Great Majority.</p>

<p>He had outlived many of his race, doubtless
because of his temperate habits.</p>

<p>If, as the white people concluded, he was
born in 1786, his age was eighty years. It might
well have been greater, as they have no records
and old Indians show little change often in twenty
or twenty-five years, as I have myself observed.</p>

<p>In 1890 some leading pioneers of Seattle
erected a monument to his memory over his grave
in the Port Madison reservation. A Christian
emblem it is, a cross of Italian marble adorned
with an ivy wreath and bears this legend:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 368]</span></p>
<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i5">&#8220;SEATTLE</span>
<span class="i0">Chief of the Suqamps and Allied Tribes,</span>
<span class="i4">Died June 7, 1866.</span>
<span class="i0">The Firm Friend of the Whites, and for Him the</span>
<span class="i2">City of Seattle was Named by Its</span>
<span class="i5">Founders.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p>Also on the side opposite,</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Baptismal name, Noah Sealth, Age probably</span>
<span class="i5">80 years.&#8221;</span>
</div>

<p class="title">LESCHI.</p>

<p>Leschi was a noted Nesqually-Klickitat
chief, who at the head of a body of warriors attacked
Seattle in 1856.</p>

<p>Other chiefs implicated were, Kitsap, Kanasket,
Quiemuth, Owhi and Coquilton.</p>

<p>Leschi being accused of influencing the Indians
at Seattle, who were friendly, in January,
1856, an attempt was made to capture him by
Captain Keyes of Fort Steilacoom. Keyes sent
Maloney and his company in the Hudson Bay
Company&#8217;s steamer &#8220;Beaver&#8221; to take him prisoner.</p>

<p>They attempted to land but Leschi gathered
up his warriors and prepared to fight. Being
at a decided disadvantage, as but a few could
land at a time, the soldiers were obliged to withdraw.
Keyes made a second attempt in the surveying
steamer &#8220;Active;&#8221; having no cannon he
tried to borrow a howitzer from the &#8220;Decatur&#8221;
at Seattle, but the captain refused to loan it and
Keyes returned to get a gun at the fort. Leschi<span class="pagenum">[Pg 369]</span>
prudently withdrew to Puyallup, where he continued
his warlike preparations. Followed by
quite an army of hostile Indians, he landed on
the shore of Lake Washington, east of Seattle,
at a point near what is now called Leschi Park,
and on the 26th of January, 1856, made the
memorable attack on Seattle.</p>

<p>The cunning and skill of the Indian in warfare
were no match for the white man&#8217;s cannon
and substantial defenses and Leschi was defeated.
He threatened a second attack but none
was ever made. By midsummer the war was at
an end.</p>

<p>By an agreement of a council held in the
Yakima country, between Col. Wright and the
conquered chiefs, among whom were Leschi,
Quiemuth, Nelson, Stahi and the younger Kitsap,
they were permitted to go free on parole,
having promised to lead peaceable lives. Leschi
complied with the agreement but feared the revenge
of white men, so gave himself up to Dr.
Tolmie, as stated elsewhere. Dr. Tolmie was
Chief Factor of the Hudson Bay Company. He
came from Scotland in 1833 with another young
surgeon and served in the medical department
at Fort Vancouver several years. Dr. Tolmie
was a prominent figure at Fort Nesqually, a very
influential man with the Indians and distinguished
for his ability; he lived in Victoria many
years, where he died at a good old age.</p>

<p><a id="XV" name="XV"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp369.png" width="500" height="296" alt="" title="TYPES OF INDIAN HOUSES" />
<span class="caption">TYPES OF INDIAN HOUSES</span>
</div>

<p>A special term of court was held to try Les<span class="pagenum"><a id="page370" name="page370">[Pg 370]</a></span>chi
for a murder which it could not be proven he
committed and the jury failed to agree. He was
tried again in March, 1857, convicted and sentenced
to be hanged on the 10th of June. The
case was carried up to the supreme court and the
verdict sustained. Again he was sentenced to
die on the 22nd of January, 1858. A strong appeal
was made by those who wished to see justice
done, to Gov. McMullin, who succeeded Gov.
Stevens, but a protest prevailed, and when the
day set for execution arrived, a multitude of people
gathered to witness it at Steilacoom. But the
doomed man&#8217;s friends saw the purpose was revenge
and a sharp reproof was administered. The
sheriff and his deputy were arrested, for selling
liquor to the Indians, before the hour appointed,
and held until the time passed. Greatly chagrined
at being frustrated, the crowd held meetings
the same evening and by appealing to the
legislature and some extraordinary legislation in
sympathy with them, supplemented by &#8220;ground
and lofty tumbling&#8221; in the courts, Leschi was
sentenced for the third time.</p>

<p>On the 19th of February, 1858, worn by sickness
and prolonged imprisonment he was murdered
in accordance with the sentiment of his
enemies.</p>

<p>No doubt the methods of <i>savage</i> warfare
were not approved, but that did not prevent their
hanging a man on parole.</p>

<p>On July 3rd, 1895, a large gathering of In<span class="pagenum">[Pg 371]</span>dians
assembled on the Nesqually reservation.
Over one thousand were there. They met to remove
the bones of Leschi and Quiemuth to the
reservation. The ceremonies were very impressive;
George Leschi, a nephew of Leschi and son
of Quiemuth, made a speech in the Indian tongue.
He said the war was caused by the whites demanding
that the Nesqually and Puyallup Indians
be removed to the Quiniault reservation on
the Pacific Coast, and their reservation thrown
open for settlement. It was in battling for the
rights of their people and to preserve the lands
of their forefathers, he said, that the war was
inaugurated by the Indian chiefs.</p>

<p class="title">PAT KANEM.</p>

<p>The subject of this sketch was one of the
most interesting characters brought into prominence
by the conflict of the two races in early
days of conquest in the Northwest. That he was
sometimes misunderstood was inevitable as he
was self-contained and independent in his nature
and probably concealed his motives from friend
and foe alike.</p>

<p>The opinion of the Indians was not wholly
favorable to him as he became friendly to the
white people, especially so toward some who were
influential.</p>

<p>Pat Kanem was one of seven brothers, his
mother a Snoqualmie of which tribe he was the
recognized leader, his father, of another tribe,
the Soljampsh.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 372]</span>It is said that he planned the extermination
or driving out of the whites and brought about a
collision at old Fort Nesqually in 1849, when
Leander Wallace was killed, he and his warriors
having picked a quarrel with the Indians in that
vicinity who ran to the fort for protection. It
seems impossible to ascertain the facts as to the
intention of the Snoqualmies because of conflicting
accounts. Some who are well acquainted
with the Indians think it was a quarrel, pure and
simple, between the Indians camped near by and
the visiting Snoqualmies, without any ulterior
design upon the white men or upon the fort itself.
Also, Leander Wallace persisted in boasting
that he could settle the difficulty with a club
and contrary to the persuasions of the people in
the fort went outside, thereby losing his life.</p>

<p>Four of Pat Kanem&#8217;s brothers were arrested;
and although one shot killed Wallace, two
Indians were hung, a proceeding which would
hardly have followed had they been white men.
John Kanem, one of Pat Kanem&#8217;s brothers, often
visited Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny afterward,
and would repeat again and again, &#8220;They killed
my brother&#8221; (Kluskie mem-a-loose nika ow).</p>

<p>A Snoqualmie Indian in an interview recently
said that Qushun (Little Cloud) persuaded
Pat Kanem to give up his brother so that he
might surely obtain and maintain the chiefship.
Whatever may have been his attitude at first to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 373]</span>ward
the white invaders he afterward became
their ally in subduing the Indian outbreak.</p>

<p>As A. A. Denny recounts in his valuable
work &#8220;Pioneer Days on Puget Sound,&#8221; Pat
Kanem gave him assurance of his steadfast
friendship before the war and further demonstrated
it by appearing according to previous
agreement, accompanied by women and children
of the tribe, obviously a peace party, with gifts
of choice game which he presented on board to
the captain of the &#8220;Decatur.&#8221;</p>

<p>With half a hundred or more of his warriors,
his services were accepted by the governor
and they applied themselves to the gruesome industry
of taking heads from the hostile ranks.
Eighty dollars for a chief&#8217;s head and twenty for
a warrior&#8217;s were the rewards offered.</p>

<p>Lieut. Phelps, gratefully remembered by the
settlers of Seattle, thus described his appearance
at Olympia, after having invested some of his
pay in &#8220;Boston ictas&#8221; (clothes): &#8220;Pat Kanem
was arrayed in citizen&#8217;s garb, including congress
gaiters, white kid gloves, and a white shirt with
standing collar reaching half-way up his ears,
and the whole finished off with a flaming red
neck-tie.&#8221;</p>

<p>Pat Kanem died while yet young; he must
have been regarded with affection by his people.
Years afterward when one of his tribe visited an
old pioneer, he was given a photograph of Pat
Kanem to look at; wondering at his silence the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 374]</span>
family were struck by observing that he was gazing
intently on the pictured semblance of his
dead and gone chieftain, while great tears rolled
unchecked down the bronze cheeks. What
thoughts of past prosperity, the happy, roving
life of the long ago and those who mingled in it,
he may have had, we cannot tell.</p>

<p class="title">STUDAH.</p>

<p>Studah, or Williams, was one of three sons
of a very old Duwampsh chief, &#8220;Queaucton,&#8221;
who brought them to A. A. Denny asking that he
give them &#8220;Boston&#8221; names. He complied by
calling them Tecumseh, Keokuk and William.</p>

<p>The following sketch was written by Rev.
G. F. Whitworth, a well-known pioneer:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;William, the chief of the surviving Indians
of the Duwampsh tribe, died at the Indian camp
on Cedar River on Wednesday, April 1. He was
one of the few remaining Indians who were at all
prominent in the early settlement of this country,
and is almost, if not actually, the last of those
who were ever friendly to the whites. His father,
who died about the time that the first white settlements
were made in this country, was the principal
or head chief of the Duwamish Indians.
He left three sons, Tecumseh, Keokuk and William.
All of whom are now dead. Tecumseh, presumably
the eldest son, succeeded his father, and
was recognized as chief until he was deposed by
Capt. (now Gen.) Dent, U. S. A., who acted
under authority of the United States government<span class="pagenum">[Pg 375]</span>
in relation to the Indians, at that time. He had
some characteristics which seemed to disqualify
him for the office, while on the other hand William
seemed pre-eminently fitted to fill the position,
and was therefore chief and had been recognized
both by whites and Indians up to the
time of his death.</p>

<p>&#8220;At the time of the Indian war, he, like Seattle
and Curley, was a true friend of the whites.
The night before Seattle was attacked there was
a council of war held in the woods back of the
town, and William attended that council, and his
voice was heard for peace and against war. He
was always friendly to the whites, and for nearly
forty years he has been faithful in his friendship
to E. W. Smithers, to whom I am indebted for
much of the information contained in this article.</p>

<p>&#8220;Those who knew William will remember
that he was distinguished for natural dignity of
manner. He was an earnest and sincere Catholic,
was a thoroughly good Indian, greatly respected
by his tribe, and having the confidence
of those among the whites who knew him. William
was an orator and quite eloquent in his own
language. On one occasion shortly after Capt.
Hill, U. S. A., came to the territory, some complaints
had been made to the superintendent,
which were afterwards learned to be unfounded,
asking to have the Duwamish Indians removed
from Black River to the reservation. Capt. Hill
was sent to perform this service, and went with a<span class="pagenum">[Pg 376]</span>
steamer to their camp, which was on Mr. Smither&#8217;s
farm, a little above the railroad bridge. The
captain was accompanied by United States Agent
Finkbonner, and on his arrival at the camp addressed
the Indians, through an interpreter, informing
them of the nature of his errand, and
directing them to gather their &#8216;ictas&#8217; without
delay and go on board the steamer, to be at once
conveyed to the reservation. William and his
Indians listened respectfully to the captain, and
when he had closed his remarks William made
his reply.</p>

<p>&#8220;His speech was about an hour in length, in
which his eloquence was clearly exhibited. He
replied that the father at Olympia or the Great
Father at Washington City, had no right to remove
his tribe. They were peaceful, had done no
wrong. They were under no obligation to the
government, had received nothing at its hands,
and had asked for nothing; they had entered into
no treaty; their lands had been taken from them.
This, however, was their home. He had been
born on Cedar River, and there he intended to remain,
and there his bones should be laid. They
were not willing to be removed. They could not
be removed. He might bring the soldiers to take
them, but when they should come he would not
find them, for they would flee and hide themselves
in the &#8216;stick&#8217; (the woods) where the soldiers
could not find them. Capt. Hill found himself
in a dilemma, out of which he was extricated<span class="pagenum">[Pg 377]</span>
by Mr. Smithers, who convinced the captain that
the complaints were unfounded, and that with
two or three exceptions those who had signed the
complaint and made the request did not reside in
that neighborhood, but lived miles away. They
were living on Mr. Smithers&#8217; land with his consent,
and when he further guaranteed their good
behavior, and Mrs. Smithers assured him that she
had no fears and no grievance, but that when Mr.
Smithers was away she considered them a protection
rather than otherwise, the captain concluded
to return without them, and to report the
facts as he found them.</p>

<p>&#8220;William&#8217;s last message was sent to Mr.
Smithers a few days before he died, and was a
request that he would see that he was laid to rest
as befitted his rank, and not allow him to be
buried like a seedy old vagrant, as many of the
newcomers considered him to be.</p>

<p>&#8220;It is hardly necessary for me to say that
this request was faithfully complied with, and
that on Friday, April 3, his remains were interred
in the Indian burying ground near Renton. The
funeral was a large one, Indians from far and
near coming to render their last tribute of respect
to his memory.</p>

<p>&#8220;From the time of his birth until his death
he had lived in the region of Cedar and Black
Rivers, seventy-nine years.</p>

<p>&#8220;His successor as chief will be his nephew,
Rogers, who is a son of Tecumseh.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 378]</span></p>
<p class="title">&#8220;ANGELINE.&#8221;</p>

<p>Ka-ki-is-il-ma, called Angeline by the white
settlers, about whom so much has been written,
was a daughter of Sealth.</p>

<p>In an interview, some interesting facts were
elicited.</p>

<p>Angeline saw white people first at Nesqually,
&#8220;King George&#8221; people, the Indians called the
Hudson Bay Company&#8217;s agents and followers.</p>

<p>She saw the brothers of Pat Kanem arrested
for the killing of Wallace; she said that Sealth
thought it was right that the two Snoqualmies
were executed.</p>

<p>When a little girl she wore deerskin robes
or long coats and a collar of shells; in those days
her tribe made three kinds of robes, some of
&#8220;suwella,&#8221; &#8220;shulth&#8221; or mountain beaver fur, and
of deer-skins; the third was possibly woven, as
they made blankets of mountain sheep&#8217;s wool and
goat&#8217;s hair.</p>

<p>Angeline was first married to a big chief of
the Skagits, Dokubkun by name; her second husband
was Talisha, a Duwampsh chief. She was
a widow of about forty-five when Americans settled
on Elliott Bay. Two daughters, Chewatum
or Betsy and Mamie, were her only children
known to the white people, and both married
white men. Betsy committed suicide by hanging
herself in the shed room of a house on Commercial
Street, tying herself to a rafter by a
red bandanna handkerchief. Betsy left an in<span class="pagenum">[Pg 379]</span>fant
son, since grown up, who lived with Angeline
many years. Mary or Mamie married Wm. DeShaw
and has been dead for some time.</p>

<p>It has been said that some are born great,
some achieve greatness, while others have greatness
thrust upon them. Of the last described
class, Angeline was a shining representative.
Souvenir spoons, photographs, and cups bearing
her likeness have doubtless traveled over a considerable
portion of the civilized world, all of
the notoriety arising therefrom certainly being
unsought by the poor old Indian woman.</p>

<p>Newspaper reporters, paragraphers, and
magazine writers have never wearied of limning
her life, recounting even the smallest incidents
and making of her a conspicuous figure in the
literature of the Northwest.</p>

<p>It quite naturally follows that some absurd
things have been written, some heartless, others
pathetic and of real literary value, although it
has been difficult for the tenderfoot to avoid errors.
Upon the event of her death, which occurred
on Sunday, May 31st, 1896, a leading paper
published an editorial in which a brief outline
of the building of the city witnessed by Angeline
was given and is here inserted:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Angeline, as she had been named by the
early settlers, had seen many wonders. Born on
the lonely shores of an unknown country, reared
in the primeval forest, she saw all the progress of
modern civilization. She saw the first cabin of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 380]</span>
the pioneer; the struggles for existence on the
part of the white man with nature; the hewing of
the log, then the work of the sawmill, the revolt
of the aboriginal inhabitants against the intruder
and the subjugation of the inferior race; the
growth from one hut to a village; from village to
town; the swelling population with its concomitants
of stores, ships and collateral industries;
the platting of a town; the organization of government;
the accumulation of commerce; the advent
of railroads and locomotives; of steamships
and great engines of maritime warfare; the destruction
of a town by fire and the marvelous energy
which built upon its site, a city. Where
there had been a handful of shacks she saw a
city of sixty thousand people; in place of a few
canoes she saw a great fleet of vessels, stern-wheelers,
side-wheelers, propellers, whalebacks,
the Charleston and Monterey. She saw the
streets lighted by electricity; saw the telephone,
elevators and many other wonders.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>&#8220;Death came to her as it does to all; but it
came as the precursor of extinction, it adds another
link in the chain which exemplifies the
survival of the fittest.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>These comments are coldly judicial and exactly
after the mind of the unsympathetic tenderfoot
or the &#8220;hard case&#8221; of early days. In
speaking of the &#8220;survival of the fittest&#8221; and the
&#8220;subjugation of the inferior race&#8221; a contrast is<span class="pagenum">[Pg 381]</span>
drawn flattering to the white race, but any mention
of the incalculable injury, outrages, indignities
and villainies practiced upon the native inhabitants
by evil white men is carefully avoided.
Angeline &#8220;saw&#8221; a good many other things not
mentioned in the above eulogy upon civilization.
She saw the wreck wrought by the white man&#8217;s
drink; the Indians never made a fermented
liquor of their own.</p>

<p>Angeline said that her father, Sealth, once
owned all the land on which Seattle is built, that
he was friendly to the white people and wanted
them to have the land; that she was glad to see
fine buildings, stores and such like, but not the
saloons; she did not like it at all that the white
people built saloons and Joe, her grandson, would
go to them and get drunk and then they made her
pay five dollars to get him out of jail!</p>

<p>However, I will not dwell here on the dark
side of the poor Indians&#8217; history, I turn therefore
to more pleasant reminiscence.</p>

<p>Ankuti (a great while ago) when the days
were long and happy, in the time of wild blackberries,
two pioneer women with their children,
of whom the writer was one, embarked with Angeline
and Mamie in a canoe, under the old laurel
(madrona) tree and paddled down Elliott Bay
to a fine blackberry patch on W. N. Bell&#8217;s claim.</p>

<p>After wandering about a long while they
sat down to rest on mossy logs beside the trail.
They sat facing the water, the day was waning,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 382]</span>
and as they thought of their return one of them
said, &#8220;O look at the canoe!&#8221; It was far out on
the shining water; the tide had come up while the
party wandered in the woods and the canoe, with
its stake, was quite a distance from the bank.
Mamie ran down the trail to the beach, took off
her moccasins and swam out to the canoe, her
mother and the rest intently watching her. Then
she dived down to the bottom; as her round, black
head disappeared beneath the rippling surface,
Angeline said &#8220;Now she&#8217;s gone.&#8221; But in a few
moments we breathed a sigh of relief as up she
rose, having pulled up the stake, and climbed into
the canoe, although how she did it one cannot tell,
and paddled to the shore to take in the happy
crew. This little incident, but more especially
the scene, the forms and faces of my friends, the
dark forest, moss-cushioned seats under drooping
branches, and the graceful canoe afloat on the
silvery water&mdash;and it <i>did</i> seem for a few, long
moments that Mamie was gone as Angeline said
in her anxiety for her child&#8217;s safety showing she
too was a human mother&mdash;all this has never left
my memory!</p>

<p>Angeline lived for many years in her little
shanty near the water front, assisted often with
food and clothing from kindly white friends. She
had a determination to live, die and be buried in
Seattle, as it was her home, and that, too, near her
old pioneer friends, thus typifying one of the
dearest wishes of the Indians.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 383]</span>She was one of the good Indian washerwomen,
gratefully remembered by pioneer housewives.
These faithful servitors took on them
much toil, wearing and wearisome, now accomplished
by machinery or Chinese.</p>

<p>The world is still deceived by the external
appearance; but even the toad &#8220;ugly and venomous&#8221;
was credited with a jewel in its head.</p>

<p>Now Angeline was ugly and untidy, and all
that, but not as soulless as some who relegated
her to the lowest class of living creatures.</p>

<p>A white friend whom she often visited, Mrs.
Sarah Kellogg, said to the writer, &#8220;Angeline
lived up to the light she had; she was honest and
would never take anything that was offered her
unless she needed it. I always made her some little
present, saying, &#8216;Well, Angeline, what do you
want? Some sugar?&#8217; &#8216;No, I have plenty of
sugar, I would like a little tea.&#8217; So it was with
anything else mentioned, if she was supplied she
said so. I had not seen her for quite a while at
one time, and hearing she was sick sent my husband
to the door of her shack to inquire after
her. Sure enough she lay in her bunk unable to
rise. When asked if she wanted anything to
eat, she replied, &#8216;No, I have plenty of muck-amuck;
Arthur Denny sent me a box full, but I
want some candles and matches.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;She told me that she was getting old and
might die any time and that she never went to
bed without saying her prayers.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 384]</span>&#8220;During a long illness she came to my house
quite often, but was sent away by those in charge;
when I was at last able to sit up, I saw her approaching
the house and went down to the kitchen
to be ready to receive her. As usual I inquired
after her wants, when she somewhat indignantly
asked, &#8216;Don&#8217;t you suppose I can come to see you
without wanting something?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;One day as she sat in my kitchen a young
white girl asked before her, in English, of course,
&#8216;Does Angeline know anything about God?&#8217; She
said quickly in Chinook, &#8216;You tell that girl that I
know God sees me all the time; I might lie or steal
and you would never find it out, but God would
see me do it.&#8217;&#8221;</p>

<p>In her old age she exerted herself, even when
feeble from sickness, to walk long distances in
quest of food and other necessities, stumping
along with her cane and sitting down now and
then on a door-step to rest.</p>

<p>All the trades-people knew her and were generally
kind to her.</p>

<p>At last she succumbed to an attack of lung
trouble and passed away. Having declared herself
a Roman Catholic, she was honorably buried
from the church in Seattle, Rev. F. X. Prefontaine
officiating, while several of the old pioneers
were pallbearers.</p>

<p>A canoe-shaped coffin had been prepared on
which lay a cross of native rhododendrons and a
cluster of snowballs, likely from an old garden.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 385]</span>
A great concourse of people were present, many
out of curiosity, no doubt, while some were there
with real feeling and solemn thought. Her old
friend, Mrs. Maynard, stood at the head of the
grave and dropped in a sprig of cedar. She spoke
some encouraging words to Joe Foster, Betsy&#8217;s
son, and Angeline&#8217;s sole mourner, advising him
to live a good life.</p>

<p>And so Angeline was buried according to
her wish, in the burying ground of the old pioneers.</p>

<p class="title">YUTESTID.</p>

<p>After extending numerous invitations, I was
pleasantly surprised upon my return to my home
one day to find Mr. and Mrs. Yutestid awaiting
an interview.</p>

<p>In the first place this Indian name is pronounced
<i>Yute-stid</i> and he is the only survivor (in
1898) of Chief Sealth&#8217;s once numerous household.
His mother was doubtless a captive, a
Cowichan of British Columbia; his father, a
Puget Sound Indian from the vicinity of Olympia.
He was quite old, he does not know how old,
but not decrepit; Angeline said they grew up together.</p>

<p><a id="XVI" name="XVI"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp385.png" width="500" height="296" alt="" title="LAST VOYAGE OF THE LUMEI" />
<span class="caption">LAST VOYAGE OF THE LUMEI</span>
</div>

<p>He is thin and wiry looking, with some straggling
bristles for a beard and thick short hair,
still quite black, covering a head which looks as
if it had been flattened directly on top as well as
back and front as they were wont to do. This
peculiar cranial development does not affect his
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 386]</span>intelligence, however, as we have before observed
in others; he is quick-witted and knows a
great many things. Yutestid says he can speak
all the leading dialects of the Upper Sound, Soljampsh,
Nesqually, Puyallup, Snoqualmie, Duwampsh,
Snohomish, but not the Sklallam and
others north toward Vancouver.</p>

<p>Several incidents related in this volume were
mentioned and he remembered them perfectly,
referred to the naming of &#8220;New York&#8221; on Alki
Point and the earliest settlement, repeating the
names of the pioneers. The murder at Bean&#8217;s
Point was committed by two Soljampsh Indians,
he said, and they were tried and punished by an
Indian court.</p>

<p>He remembers the hanging of Pat Kanem&#8217;s
brothers, Kussass and Quallawowit.</p>

<p>&#8220;Long ago, the Indians fight, fight, fight,&#8221;
he said, but he declared he had never heard of
the Duwampsh campaign attributed to Sealth.</p>

<p>Yutestid was not at the battle of Seattle but
at Oleman House with Sealth&#8217;s tribe and others
whom Gov. Stevens had ordered there. He
chuckled as he said &#8220;The bad Indians came into
the woods near town and the man-of-war (Decatur)
mamoked pooh (shot) at them and they
were frightened and ran away.&#8221;</p>

<p>Lachuse, the Indian who was shot near Seneca
Street, Seattle, he remembered, and when I
told him how the Indian doctor extracted the
buckshot from the wounds he sententiously re<span class="pagenum">[Pg 387]</span>marked,
&#8220;Well, sometimes the Indian doctors
did very well, sometimes they were old humbugs,
just the same as white people.&#8221;</p>

<p>Oleman House was built long before he was
born, according to his testimony, and was
adorned by a carved wooden figure, over the entrance,
of the great thunder bird, which performed
the office of a lightning rod or at least
prevented thunder bolts from striking the building.</p>

<p>When asked what the medium of exchange
was &#8220;ankuti&#8221; (long ago), he measured on the
index finger the length of pieces of abalone shell
formerly used for money.</p>

<p>In those days he saw the old women make
feather robes of duck-skins, also of deer-skins
and dog-skins with the hair on; they made bead
work, too; beaded moccasins called &#8220;<i>Yachit</i>.&#8221;</p>

<p>The old time ways were very slow; he described
the cutting of a huge cedar for a canoe as
taking a long time to do, by hacking around it
with a stone hammer and &#8220;chisel.&#8221;</p>

<p>Before the advent of the whites, mats served
as sails.</p>

<p>I told him of having seen the public part of
Black Tamanuse and they both laughed at the
heathenism of long ago and said, &#8220;We don&#8217;t have
that now.&#8221;</p>

<p>Yutestid denied that <i>his</i> people ate dog when
making black tamanuse, but said the Sklallams
did so.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page388" name="page388">[Pg 388]</a></span>&#8220;If I could speak better English or you better
Chinook I could tell you lots of stories,&#8221; he
averred. Chinook is so very meager, however,
that an interpreter of the native tongue will be
necessary to get these stories.</p>

<p>They politely shook hands and bade me
&#8220;Good-bye&#8221; to jog off through the rain to their
camping place, Indian file, he following in the
rear contentedly smoking a pipe. Yutestid is industrious,
cultivating a patch of ground and
yearly visiting the city of Seattle with fruit to
sell.</p>

<p class="title">THE CHIEF&#8217;S REPLY.</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yonder sky through ages weeping</span>
<span class="i0">Tender tears o&#8217;er sire and son,</span>
<span class="i0">O&#8217;er the dead in grave-banks sleeping,</span>
<span class="i0">Dead and living loved as one,</span>
<span class="i0">May turn cruel, harsh and brazen,</span>
<span class="i0">Burn as with a tropic sun,</span>
<span class="i0">But my words are true and changeless,</span>
<span class="i0">Changeless as the season&#8217;s run.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Waving grass-blades of wide prairie</span>
<span class="i0">Shuttled by lithe foxes wary,</span>
<span class="i0">As the eagle sees afar,</span>
<span class="i0">So the pale-face people are;</span>
<span class="i0">Like the lonely scattering pine-trees</span>
<span class="i0">On a bleak and stormy shore,</span>
<span class="i0">Few my brother warriors linger</span>
<span class="i0">Faint and failing evermore.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Well I know you could command us</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 389]</span><span class="i0">To give o&#8217;er the land we love,</span>
<span class="i0">With your warriors well withstand us</span>
<span class="i0">And ne&#8217;er weep our graves above.</span>
<span class="i0">See on Whulch the South wind blowing</span>
<span class="i0">And the waves are running free!</span>
<span class="i0">Once my people they were many</span>
<span class="i0">Like the waves of Whulch&#8217;s sea.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When our young men rise in anger,</span>
<span class="i0">Gather in a war-bent band,</span>
<span class="i0">Face black-painted and the musket</span>
<span class="i0">In the fierce, relentless hand,</span>
<span class="i0">Old men pleading, plead in vain,</span>
<span class="i0">Their dark spirits none restrain.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If to you our land we barter,</span>
<span class="i0">This we ask ere set of sun,</span>
<span class="i0">To the graves of our forefathers,</span>
<span class="i0">Till our days on earth are done,</span>
<span class="i0">We may wander as our hearts are</span>
<span class="i0">Wandering till our race is run.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Speak the hillsides and the waters,</span>
<span class="i0">Speak the valleys, plains and groves,</span>
<span class="i0">Waving trees and snow-robed mountains,</span>
<span class="i0">Speak to him where&#8217;er he roves,</span>
<span class="i0">To the red men&#8217;s sons and daughters</span>
<span class="i0">Of their joys, their woes and loves.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">By the shore the rocks are ringing</span>
<span class="i0">That to you seem wholly dumb,</span>
<span class="i0">Ever with the waves are singing,</span>
<span class="i0">Winds with songs forever come;</span>
<span class="i0">Songs of sorrow for the partings</span>
<span class="i0">Death and time make as of yore,</span>
<span class="i0">Songs of war and peace and valor,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 390]</span><span class="i0">Red men sang on Whulch&#8217;s shore.</span>
<span class="i0">See! the ashes of our fathers,</span>
<span class="i0">Mingling dust beneath our feet,</span>
<span class="i0">Common earth to you, the strangers,</span>
<span class="i0">Thrills us with a longing sweet.</span>
<span class="i0">Fills our pulses rhythmic beat.</span>
<span class="i0">At the midnight in your cities</span>
<span class="i0">Empty seeming, silent streets</span>
<span class="i0">Shall be peopled with the hosts</span>
<span class="i0">Of returning warriors&#8217; ghosts.</span>
<span class="i0">Tho&#8217; I shall sink into the dust,</span>
<span class="i0">My warning heed; be kind, be just,</span>
<span class="i0">Or ghosts shall menace and avenge.</span></div></div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page391" name="page391">[Pg 391]</a></span></p>
<h2>PART III.<br />
<br />
INDIAN LIFE AND SETTLERS&#8217; BEGINNINGS.</h2>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>CHAPTER I.<br />

<span class="smaller">SAVAGE DEEDS OF SAVAGE MEN.</span></h2>

<p>At Bean&#8217;s Point, opposite Alki on Puget
Sound, an Indian murdered, at night, a family
of Indians who were camping there.</p>

<p>The Puyallups and Duwampsh came together
in council at Bean&#8217;s Point, held a trial
and condemned and executed the murderer. Old
Duwampsh Curley was among the members of
this native court and likely Sealth and his counsellors.</p>

<p>One of the family escaped by wading out into
the water where he might have become very cool,
if not entirely cold, if it had not been that Captain
Fay and George Martin, a Swedish sailor,
were passing by in their boat and the Indian
begged to be taken in, a request they readily
granted and landed him in a place of safety.</p>

<p>Again at Bean&#8217;s Point an Indian was shot
by a white man, a Scandinavian; the charge was
a liberal one of buckshot.</p>

<p>Some white men who went to inquire into the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page392" name="page392">[Pg 392]</a></span>
matter followed the Indian&#8217;s trail, finding ample
evidence that he had climbed the hill back of the
house, where he may have been employed to work,
and weak from his wounds had sat down on a log
and then went back to the water; but his body
was never found. It was supposed that the murderer
enticed him back again and when he was
dead, weighted and sunk him in the deep, cold
waters of the Sound.</p>

<p>At one time there was quite a large camp of
Indians where now runs Seneca Street, Seattle,
near which was my home. It was my father&#8217;s
custom to hire the Indians to perform various
kinds of hard labor, such as grubbing stumps,
digging ditches, cutting wood, etc. For a while
we employed a tall, strong, fine-looking Indian
called Lachuse to cut wood; through a long summer
day he industriously plied the ax and late in
the twilight went down to a pool of water, near
an old bridge, to bathe. As he passed by a clump
of bushes, suddenly the flash and report of a gun
shattered the still air and Lachuse fell heavily
to the ground with his broad chest riddled with
buckshot.</p>

<p>There was great excitement in the camp, running
and crying of the women and debate by the
men, who soon carried him into the large Indian
house. He was laid down in the middle of the
room and the medicine man, finding him alive,
proceeded to suck the wounds while the tamanuse
noise went on.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 393]</span>A distracted, grey-haired lum-e-i, his mother,
came to our house to beg for a keeler of water,
all the time crying, &#8220;Mame-loose Lachuse! Achada!&#8221;</p>

<p>Two of the little girls of our family, sleeping
in an old-fashioned trundle bed, were so
frightened at the commotion that they pulled the
covers up over their heads so far that their feet
protruded below.</p>

<p>The medicine man&#8217;s treatment seems to have
been effective, aided by the tamanuse music, as
Lachuse finally recovered.</p>

<p>The revengeful deed was committed by a
Port Washington Indian, in retaliation for the
stealing of his &#8220;klootchman&#8221; (wife) by an Indian
of the Duwampsh tribe, although it was not
Lachuse, this sort of revenge being in accordance
with their heathen custom.</p>

<p>&#8220;Jim Keokuk,&#8221; an Indian, killed another
Indian in the marsh near the gas works; he
struck him on the head with a stone. Jim worked
as deck hand on a steamer for a time, but he in
turn was finally murdered by other Indians,
wrapped with chains and thrown overboard,
which was afterward revealed by some of the
tribe.</p>

<p>There were many cases of retaliation, but the
Indians were fairly peaceable until degraded by
drink.</p>

<p>The beginning of hostilities against the white
people on the Sound, by some historians is said<span class="pagenum">[Pg 394]</span>
to have been the killing of Leander Wallace at
old Fort Nesqually. One of them gives this account:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Prior to the Whitman massacre, Owhi and
Kamiakin, the great chiefs of the upper and
lower Yakima nations, while on a visit to Fort
Nesqually, had observed to Dr. Tolmie that the
Hudson Bay Company&#8217;s posts with their white
employes were a great convenience to the natives,
but the American immigration had excited alarm
and was the constant theme of hostile conversation
among the interior tribes. The erection in
1848, at Fort Nesqually, of a stockade and blockhouse
had also been the subject of angry criticism
by the visiting northern tribes. So insolent and
defiant had been their conduct that upon one
afternoon for over an hour the officers and men
of the post had guns pointed through the loop-holes
at a number of Skawhumpsh Indians, who,
with their weapons ready for assault, had posted
themselves under cover of adjacent stumps and
trees.</p>

<p>&#8220;Shortly before the shooting of Wallace, rumors
had reached the fort that the Snoqualmies
were coming in force to redress the alleged cruel
treatment of Why-it, the Snoqualmie wife of the
young Nesqually chief, Wyampch, a dissipated
son of Lahalet.</p>

<p>&#8220;Dr. Tolmie treated such a pretext as a mere
cloak for a marauding expedition of the Snoqualmies.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page395" name="page395">[Pg 395]</a></span>&#8220;Sheep shearing had gathered numbers of
extra hands, chiefly Snohomish, who were occupying
mat lodges close to the fort, besides unemployed
stragglers and camp followers.</p>

<p>&#8220;On Tuesday, May 1, 1849, about noon, numbers
of Indian women and children fled in great
alarm from their lodges and sought refuge within
the fort. A Snoqualmie war party, led by Pat
Kanem, approached from the southwestern end
of the American plains. Dr. Tolmie having
posted a party of Kanakas in the northwest
bastion went out to meet them.</p>

<p>&#8220;Tolmie induced Pat Kanem to return with
him to the fort, closing the gate after their entrance.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The following is said to be the account given
by the Hudson Bay Company&#8217;s officials:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The gate nearest the mat lodges was guarded
by a white man and an Indian servant. While
Dr. Tolmie was engaged in attending a patient,
he heard a single shot fired, speedily followed
by two or three others. He hastily rushed to the
bastion, whence a volley was being discharged
at a number of retreating Indians who had made
a stand and found cover behind the sheep washing
dam of Segualitschu Creek. Through a loop-hole
the bodies of an Indian and a white man
were discernible at a few yards distance from
the north gate where the firing had commenced.</p>

<p>&#8220;He hastened thither and found Wallace
breathing his last, with a full charge of buck<span class="pagenum">[Pg 396]</span>shot
in his stomach. The dying man was immediately
carried inside of the fort.</p>

<p>&#8220;The dead Indian was a young Skawhumpsh,
who had accompanied the Snoqualmies.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Snohomish workers, as also the stragglers,
had been, with the newly arrived Snoqualmies,
in and out of the abandoned lodges, chatting
and exchanging news. A thoughtless act
of the Indian sentry posted at the water gate,
in firing into the air, had occasioned a general
rush of the Snohomish, who had been cool observers
of all that had passed outside.</p>

<p>&#8220;Walter Ross, the clerk, came to the gate
armed, and seeing Kussass, a Snoqualmie, pointing
his gun at him, fired but missed him. Kussass
then fired at Wallace. Lewis, an American, had
a narrow escape, one ball passing through his
vest and trousers and another grazing his left
arm.</p>

<p>&#8220;Quallawowit, as soon as the firing began,
shot through the pickets and wounded Tziass,
an Indian, in the muscles of his shoulder, which
soon after occasioned his death.</p>

<p>&#8220;The Snoqualmies as they retreated to the
beach killed two Indian ponies and then hastily
departed in their canoes.</p>

<p>&#8220;At the commencement of the shooting, Pat
Kanem, guided by Wyampch, escaped from the
fort, a fortunate occurrence, as, upon his rejoining
his party the retreat at once began.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 397]</span>&#8220;When Dr. Tolmie stooped to raise Wallace,
and the Snoqualmies levelled their guns to
kill that old and revered friend, an Indian called
&#8216;the Priest&#8217; pushed aside the guns, exclaiming
&#8216;Enough mischief has already been done.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;The four Indians of the Snoqualmie party
whose names were given by Snohomish informers
to Dr. Tolmie, together with Kussass and
Quallawowit, were afterward tried for the murder
of Wallace.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Their names were Whyik, Quallawowit,
Kussass, Stahowie, Tatetum and Quilthlimkyne;
the last mentioned was a Duwampsh.</p>

<p>Eighty blankets were offered for the giving
up of these Indians.</p>

<p>The Snoqualmies came to Steilacoom, where
they were to be tried, in war paint and parade.</p>

<p>The officials came from far; down the Columbia;
up the Cowlitz, and across to Puget
Sound, about two hundred miles in primitive
style, by canoe, oxcart or cayuse.</p>

<p>The trial occupied two days; on the third
day, the two condemned, Kussass and Quallawowit,
were executed.</p>

<p>One shot Wallace, <i>two</i> Indians were hung;
Leschi, a leader in the subsequent war of 1855,
looked on and went away resenting the injustice
of taking two lives for one. Other Indians no
doubt felt the same, thus preparing the way for
their deadly opposition to the white race.</p>

<p>It certainly seems likely that the &#8220;pretext&#8221;<span class="pagenum">[Pg 398]</span>
of the Snoqualmies was a valid one as Wyampch,
the young Nesqually chief, was a drunkard, and
Why-it, his Snoqualmie wife, was no doubt
treated much as Indian wives generally in such
a case, frequently beaten and kicked into insensibility.</p>

<p>The Snoqualmies had been quarreling with
the Nesquallies before this and it is extremely
probable that, as was currently reported among
old settlers, the trouble was among the Indians
themselves.</p>

<p>There are two stories also concerning Wallace;
first, that he was outside quietly looking on,
which he ought to have known better than to do;
second, that he was warned not to go outside but
persisted in going, boasting that he could settle
the difficulty with a club, paying for his temerity
with his life.</p>

<p>A well known historian has said that the
&#8220;different tribes had been successfully treated
with, but the Indians had acted treacherously
inasmuch as it was well known that they had
long been plotting against the white race to
destroy it. This being true and they having entered
upon a war without cause, however, he
(Gov. Stevens) might sympathize with the restlessness
of an inferior race who perceived that
destiny was against them, he nevertheless had
high duties toward his own.&#8221;</p>

<p>Now all this was true, yet there were other
things equally true. Not all the treachery, not<span class="pagenum">[Pg 399]</span>
all the revenge, not all the cruelty were on the
side of the &#8220;inferior&#8221; race. Even all the inferiority
was not on one side. The garbled translation
by white interpreters, the lying, deceit,
nameless and numberless impositions by lawless
white men must have aroused and fostered intense
resentment. That there were white savages
here we have ample proof.</p>

<p>When Col. Wright received the conquered
Spokane chiefs in council with some the pipe of
peace was smoked. After it was over, Owhi presented
himself and was placed in irons for breaking
an agreement with Col. Wright, who bade
him summon his son, Qualchin, on pain of death
by hanging if his son refused to come.</p>

<p>The next day Qualchin appeared not knowing
that the order had been given, and was seized
and hung without trial. Evidently Kamiakin,
the Yakima chief, had good reason to fear the
white man&#8217;s treachery when he refused to join
in the council.</p>

<p>The same historian before mentioned tells
how Col. Wright called together the Walla Wallas,
informed them that he knew that they had
taken part in recent battles and ordered those
who had to stand up; thirty-five promptly rose.
Four of these were selected and hung. Now these
Indians fought for home and country and volunteered
to be put to death for the sake of their
people, as it is thought by some, those hung for
the murder of Whitman and his companions, did,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 400]</span>
choosing to do so of their own free will, not having
been the really guilty ones at all.</p>

<p>Quiemuth, an Indian, after the war, emerged
from his hiding place, went to a white man on
Yelm prairie requesting the latter to accompany
him to Olympia that he might give himself up for
trial. Several persons went with him; reached
Olympia after midnight, the governor placed him
in his office, locking the door. It was soon known
that the Indian was in the town and several white
men got in at the back door of the building. The
guard may have been drowsy or their movements
very quiet; a shot was fired and Quiemuth and
the others made a rush for the door where a
white man named Joe Brannan stabbed the Indian
fatally, in revenge for the death of his
brother who had been killed by Indians some
time before.</p>

<p>Three of the Indian leaders in Western
Washington were assassinated by white men for
revenge. Leschi, the most noted of the hostile
chiefs on the Sound, was betrayed by two of his
own people, some have said.</p>

<p>I have good authority for saying that he
gave himself up for fear of a similar fate.</p>

<p>He was tried three times before he was finally
hung after having been kept in jail a long
time. Evidently there were some obstructionists
who agreed with the following just and truthful
statement by Col. G. O. Haller, a well-known In<span class="pagenum">[Pg 401]</span>dian
fighter, first published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The white man&#8217;s aphorism &#8216;The first blow
is half the battle,&#8217; is no secret among Indians,
and they practice it upon entering a war. Indeed,
weak nations and Indian tribes, wrought to
desperation by real or fancied grievances, inflict
while able to do so horrible deeds when viewed by
civilized and Christ-like men. War is simply
barbarism. And when was war refined and reduced
to rules and regulations that must control
the Indian who fights for all that is dear to him&mdash;his
native land and the graves of his sires&mdash;who
finds the white man&#8217;s donation claim spread
over his long cultivated potato patch, his hog a
trespasser on his old pasture ground and his old
residence turned into a stable for stock, etc.?</p>

<p>&#8220;Leschi, like many citizens during the struggle
for secession, appealed to his instincts&mdash;his
attachment to his tribe&mdash;his desire, at the same
time to conform to the requirements of the
whites, which to many of his people were repulsive
and incompatible. He decided and struck
heavy blows against us with his warriors. Since
then we have learned a lesson.</p>

<p><a id="XVII" name="XVII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<img src="images/opp401.jpg" width="600" height="357" alt="" title="A FEW ARTIFACTS OF PUGET SOUND INDIANS" />
<span class="caption">A FEW ARTIFACTS OF PUGET SOUND INDIANS</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;Gen. Lee inflicted on the Union army heavy
losses of life and destruction of property belonging
to individuals. When he surrendered his
sword agreeing to return to his home and become
a law-abiding citizen, Gen. Grant protected him
and his paroled army from the vengeance of men
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 402]</span>who sought to make treason odious. This was in
1866 and but the repetition of the Indian war of
1856.</p>

<p>&#8220;Col. Geo. Wright, commanding the department
of the Columbia, displayed such an overwhelming
force in the Klickitat country that it
convinced the hostile Indians of the hopelessness
of pursuing war to a successful issue, and when
they asked the terms of peace, Col. Wright directed
them to return to their former homes, be
peaceful and obey the orders of the Indian agents
sent by our government to take charge of them,
and they would be protected by the soldiers.</p>

<p>&#8220;The crimes of war cannot be atoned by
crimes in cold blood after the war. Two wrongs
do not make a right.</p>

<p>&#8220;Leschi, though shrewd and daring in war,
adopted Col. Wright&#8217;s directions, dropped hostilities,
laid aside his rifle and repaired to Puget
Sound, his home.</p>

<p>&#8220;Like Lee, he was entitled to protection
from the officers and soldiers. But Leschi, on the
Sound, feared the enmity of the whites, and gave
himself up to Dr. Tolmie, an old friend, at Nesqually&mdash;not
captured by two Indians of his own
tribe and delivered up. Then began a crusade
against Leschi for all the crimes of his people in
war.</p>

<p>&#8220;On the testimony of a perjured man, whose
testimony was demonstrated, by a survey of the
route claimed by the deponent, to be a falsehood,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 403]</span>
he was found guilty by the jury, not of the offense
alleged against him, for it was physically
impossible for Leschi to be at the two points indicated
in the time alleged; hence he was a martyr
to the vengeance of unforgiving white men.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>I remember having seen the beautiful pioneer
woman spoken of in the following account
first published in a Seattle paper. The Castos
were buried in the old burying ground in a corner
next the road we traveled from our ranch to
school.</p>

<p>This is the article, head-lines and all:</p>

<blockquote><p>
&#8220;John Bonser&#8217;s Death Recalls an Indian Massacre.
Beautiful Abbie Casto&#8217;s Fate.
How Death Came Upon Three Pioneers of Squak
Valley&mdash;Swift Vengeance on the
Murderers.
</p>

<p>&#8220;The death of John Bonser, one of the earliest
pioneers of Oregon, at Sauvie&#8217;s Island, near
Portland, recently, recalls one of the bloodiest
tragedies that ever occurred in King County and
one which will go down in history as the greatest
example the pioneers had of the evil effect of giving
whisky to the Indians. The event is memorable
for another reason, and that is that the
daughter of John Bonser, wife of William Casto,
and probably the most beautiful woman in the
territory, was a victim.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;I don&#8217;t take much stock in the handsome,
charming women we read about,&#8217; said C. B. Bag<span class="pagenum">[Pg 404]</span>ley
yesterday, &#8216;but Mrs. Casto, if placed in Seattle
today with face and form as when she came
among us in 1864, would be among the handsomest
women in the city, and I shall never forget
the sensation created in our little settlement when
messengers arrived from Squak valley, where
the Castos moved, with the news that Mrs. Casto,
her husband and John Holstead had been killed
by Indians, and that a friendly Klickitat had
slain the murderers.</p>

<p>&#8220;The first impression was that there had
been an uprising among the treacherous natives
and a force, consisting of nearly all the able-bodied
men in the community, started for the
scene of the massacre.</p>

<p>&#8220;It is a hard matter for the people of metropolitan
Seattle to carry themselves back, figuratively
speaking, to 1864, and imagine the village
of that period with its thirty families.</p>

<p>&#8220;The boundaries were limited to a short
and narrow line extending along the water front
not farther north than Pike Street. The few
houses were small and unpretentious and the
business portion of the town was confined to
Commercial Street, between Main and Yesler
Avenue.</p>

<p>&#8220;At that time and even after the great fire
in 1889, Yesler Avenue was known as Mill Street,
the name having originated from the fact that
Yesler&#8217;s mill was located at its foot. Where the
magnificent Dexter Horton bank building now<span class="pagenum">[Pg 405]</span>
stands stood a small wooden structure occupied
by Dexter Horton as a store, and where the National
Bank of Commerce building, at the corner
of Yesler Avenue and Commercial Street, stood
the mill store of the Yesler-Denny Company. S.
B. Hinds, a name forgotten in commercial circles,
kept store on Commercial Street, between Washington
and Main Streets. Charles Plummer was
at the corner of Main and Commercial, and J. R.
Williamson was on the east side of Commercial
Street, a half block north. This comprised the
entire list of stores at that time. The forests
were the only source to which the settlers looked
for commercial commodities, and these, when put
in salable shape, were often-times compelled to
await means of transportation to markets.
Briefly summed up, spars, piles, lumber and hop-poles
were about all the sources of income.</p>

<p>&#8220;At that time there was no &#8216;blue book,&#8217;
and, in fact women were scarce. It is not surprising
then that the arrival of William Casto,
a man aged 38 years and a true representative
of the Kentucky colonel type, with his young
wife, the daughter of John Bonser, of Sauvies
Island, Columbia River, near Portland, should
have been a memorable occasion. Mrs. Casto was
a natural not an artificial beauty&mdash;one of those
women to whom all apparel adapts itself and becomes
a part of the wearer. Every movement
was graceful and her face one that an artist
would have raved about&mdash;not that dark, imper<span class="pagenum">[Pg 406]</span>ious
beauty that some might expect, but the exact
opposite. Her eyes were large, blue and expressive,
while her complexion, clear as alabaster,
was rendered more attractive by a rosy hue. She
was admired by all and fairly worshipped by her
husband. It was one of those rare cases where
disparity in ages did not prevent mutual devotion.</p>

<p>&#8220;In the spring of the year that Casto came
to Seattle he took up a ranch in the heart of
Squak valley, where the Tibbetts farm now lies.
Here he built a small house, put in a garden and
commenced clearing. In order to create an income
for himself and wife he opened a small trading
post and carried on the manufacture of hoop
poles. The valley was peculiarly adapted to this
business, owing to the dense growth of hazel
bush, the very article most desired.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Casto did most of his trading with San
Francisco merchants and frequently received as
much as $1,500 for a single shipment. Such a
business might be laughed at in 1893, but at that
time it meant a great deal to a sparsely settled
community where wealth was largely prospective.
It is a notable fact that, even in the early
days when North Seattle was a howling wilderness
and large game ran wild between the town
limits and Lake Washington, the advantages of
that body of water were appreciated and a successful
effort was made by Henry L. Yesler, L.
V. Wyckoff and others to connect the one with<span class="pagenum">[Pg 407]</span>
the other by a wagon road. The lake terminus
was at a point called Fleaburg, now known as
the terminus of the Madison Street cable line.
Fleaburg was a small Indian settlement, and according
to tradition derived its name from innumerable
insects that made life miserable for
the inhabitants and visitors. The many miles of
travel this cut saved was greatly appreciated by
the Squak settlers, because it was not only to
their advantage in a commercial sense, but also
made them feel that they were much nearer to
the mother settlement. Another short cut was
made by means of a foot path starting from Coal
Creek on the eastern shore of the lake. This was
so rough that only persons well acquainted with
the country would have taken advantage of it.
While it was not practical, yet it furnished means
of reaching the settlement, in case of necessity,
in one day, whereas the water route took twice
as long.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Even at that time the great fear of the settlers,
who were few in number, was the Indians.
If a young man in Seattle went hunting his
mother cautioned him to &#8220;be very careful of the
Indians.&#8221; Many people now living in or about
the city will remember that in the fall of 1864
there were fears of an Indian uprising. How the
rumors started or on what they were founded
would be hard to state, nevertheless the fact remains
that there was a general feeling of uneasiness.
During the summer there had been trouble<span class="pagenum">[Pg 408]</span>
on the Snohomish River between white men and
members of the Snohomish tribe. Three of the
latter were killed, and among them a chief.
These facts alone would have led a person well
versed in the characteristics of the Washington
Indian to look for trouble of some kind, although
to judge from what direction and in what manner
would have been difficult.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Casto at that time had several of the Snohomish
Indians working for him, but the thought
of fear never entered his mind. He had great
influence over his workmen and was looked up
to by them as a sort of white &#8220;tyee&#8221; or chief.
Any one that knew Casto could not but like him,
he was so free-hearted, kind and considerate of
every person he met, whether as a friend and
equal or as his servant. He had one fault, however,
which goes hand in hand the world over
with a free heart&mdash;he loved liquor and now and
then drank too much. He also got in the habit
of giving it to the Indians in his employ. On
several occasions the true Indian nature, under
the influence of stimulants, came out, and it required
all his authority to avoid bloodshed. His
neighbors, who could be numbered on the fingers
of both hands, with some to spare, cautioned
him not to give &#8220;a redskin whisky and arouse
the devil,&#8221; but he laughed at them, and when
they warned him of treachery, thought they
spoke nonsense. He would not believe that the
men whom he treated so kindly and befriended<span class="pagenum"><a id="page409" name="page409">[Pg 409]</a></span>
in every conceivable manner would do him harm
under any conditions. He reasoned that his
neighbors did not judge the character of the native
correctly and underestimated his influence.
There was no reason why he should not give his
Indians liquor if he so desired.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;He acted on this decision on the afternoon
of November 7, 1864, and then went to his
home for supper. The Indians got gloriously
drunk and then commenced to thirst for blood.
In the crowd were two of the Snohomish tribe,
bloodthirsty brutes, and still seeking revenge for
the death of their tribesmen and chief on the
Snohomish river the summer previous. Their
resolve was made. Casto&#8217;s life would atone for
that of the chief, his wife and friend, John Holstead,
for the other two. They secretly took
their guns and went to Casto&#8217;s house. The curtain
of the room wherein all three were seated
at the supper table was up, and the breast of
Casto was in plain view of the assassins. There
was no hesitation on the part of the Indians.
The first shot crashed through the window and
pierced Casto in a vital spot. He arose to his
feet, staggered and fell upon a lounge. His wife
sprang to his assistance, but the rifle spoke again
and she fell to the floor. The third shot hit Holstead,
but not fatally, and the Indians, determined
to complete their bloody work, ran to the
front door. They were met by Holstead, who
fought like a demon, but at length fell, his body<span class="pagenum">[Pg 410]</span>
stabbed in more than twenty places. Not content
with the slaughter already done, the bloodthirsty
wretches drove their knives into the body
of Casto&#8217;s beautiful wife in a manner most inhuman.
Having finished their bloody work of
revenge they left the house, never for a moment
thinking their lives were in danger. In this
particular they made a fatal error.</p>

<p>&#8220;The shots fired had attracted a Klickitat
Indian named Aleck to the scene. As fate had
it, he was a true friend to the white man and
held Casto, his employer, in high regard. It
took him but a brief period to comprehend the
situation, and he determined to avenge the death
of his master, wife and friend. He concealed
himself, and when the bloody brutes came out
of the house he crept up behind them. One shot
was enough to end the earthly career of one,
but the other took to his heels. Aleck followed
him with a hatchet he had drawn from his belt,
and, being fleeter of foot, caught up. Then with
one swift blow the skull of the fleeing Indian
was cleft, and as he fell headlong to the ground
Aleck jumped on him, and again and again the
bloody hatchet drank blood until the head that
but a few minutes before had human shape
looked like a chipped pumpkin.</p>

<p>&#8220;While this series of bloody deeds was
being enacted the few neighbors became wild
with alarm, and, thinking that an Indian war
had broken out, started for Seattle immediately.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 411]</span>
The band was made up of a Mr. Bush and family
and three or four single men who had ranches
in the valley.</p>

<p>&#8220;They reached Seattle the morning of the
9th and told the news, stating their fears of an
Indian uprising. A party consisting of all the
able-bodied men in the town immediately started
for the scene of the tragedy by the short cut, and
arrived there in the evening. The sight that met
their eyes was horrible. In the bushes was found
the body of the Indian who had been shot, and
not far distant were the remains of the other,
covered with blood and dirt mixed. In the house
the sight was even more horrible. Holstead lay
in the front room in a pool of clotted blood, his
body literally punctured with knife wounds, and
in the adjoining room, on a sofa, half reclining,
was the body of Casto. On the floor, almost in
the middle of the room, was Mrs. Casto, beautiful
even in death, and lying in a pool of blood.</p>

<p>&#8220;The coroner at that time was Josiah Settle,
and he, after looking around and investigating,
found that the only witnesses he had were an old
squaw, who claimed to have been an eye witness
to the tragedy, and Aleck, the Klickitat. The
inquest was held immediately, and the testimony
agreed in substance with facts previously stated.
The jury then returned the following verdict:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Territory of Washington, County of King,
before Josiah Settle, Coroner.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;We, the undersigned jurors summoned to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 412]</span>
appear before Josiah Settle, the coroner of King
county, at Squak, on the 9th day of November,
1864, to inquire into the cause of death of William
Casto, Abbie Casto and John Holstead,
having been duly sworn according to law, and
having made such inquisition after inspecting
the bodies and hearing the testimony adduced,
upon our oath each and all do say that we find
that the deceased were named William Casto,
Abbie Casto and John Holstead; that William
Casto was a native of Kentucky, Abbie Casto
was formerly a resident of Sauvies Island, Columbia
county, Ore., and John Holstead was a
native of Wheeling, Va., and that they came to
their deaths on the 7th of November, 1864, in
this county, by knives and pistols in the hands
of Indians, the bodies of the deceased having
been found in the house of William Casto, at
Squak, and we further find that we believe John
Taylor and George, his brother, Indians of the
Snoqualmie tribe, to have been the persons by
whose hands they came to their deaths.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;The bodies were brought to Seattle and
buried in what is now known as the Denny Park,
then a cemetery, North Seattle. Since then they
have been removed to the Masonic cemetery.</p>

<p>&#8220;The news of the murder was sent to John
Bonser, in Oregon, and he came to the town at
once. For several weeks after the event the
columns of the Seattle <i>Gazette</i> were devoted in
part to a discussion of the question of selling and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 413]</span>
giving liquor to the Indians, the general conclusion
being that it was not only against the law
but a dangerous practice.</p>

<p>&#8220;Out of the killing by Aleck of the two Snohomish
Indians grew a feud which resulted in
the death of Aleck&#8217;s son. The old man was the
one wanted, but he was too quick with the rifle
and they never got him. He died a few years
ago, aged nearly ninety years.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>So we see that whisky caused the death of
six persons in this case.</p>

<p>The Lower Sound Indians were, if anything,
more fierce and wild than those toward the south.</p>

<p>George Martin, the Swedish sailor who accompanied
Capt. Fay, in 1851, said that he saw
Sklallam Indians dancing a war dance at which
there appeared the head of one of their enemies,
which they had roasted; small pieces of it were
touched to their lips, but were not eaten.</p>

<p>In an early day when Ira W. Utter lived
on Salmon Bay, or more properly <i>Shilshole</i> Bay,
he was much troubled by cougars killing his
cattle, calves particularly. Thinking strychnine
a good cure he put a dose in some lights of a beef,
placed on a stick with the opposite end thrust in
the ground. &#8220;Old Limpy,&#8221; an Indian, spied the
tempting morsel, took it to his home, roasted
and ate the same and went to join his ancestors
in the happy hunting grounds.</p>

<p>This Indian received his name from a limp
occasioned by a gunshot wound inflicted by Low<span class="pagenum">[Pg 414]</span>er
Sound Indians on one of their raids. He was
just recovering when the white people settled
on Elliott Bay.</p>

<p>The very mention of these raids must have
been terrifying to our Indians, as we called those
who lived on the Upper Sound. On one occasion
as a party of them were digging clams on
the eastern shore of Admiralty Inlet, north of
Meadow Point, they were attacked by their
northern enemies, who shot two or three while
the rest <i>klatawaw-ed</i> with all the <i>hyak</i> (hurry)
possible and hid themselves.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page415" name="page415">[Pg 415]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II.<br />

<span class="smaller">PIONEER JOKES AND ANECDOTES.</span></h2>

<p>In early days, the preachers came in for
some rather severe criticisms, although the
roughest of the frontiersmen had a genuine reverence
for their calling.</p>

<p>Ministers of the Gospel, as well as others,
were obliged to turn the hand to toil with ax and
saw. Now these tools require frequent recourse
to sharpening processes and the minister with
ax on shoulder, requesting the privilege of grinding
that useful article on one of the few grindstones
in the settlement occasioned no surprise,
but when he prepared to grind by putting the
handle on &#8220;wrong side to,&#8221; gave it a brisk turn
and snapped it off short, the disgust of the owner
found vent in the caustic comment, &#8220;Well, if
you&#8217;re such a blame fool as that, I&#8217;ll never go
to hear you preach in the world!&#8221;</p>

<p>James G. Swan tells of an amusing experience
with a Neah Bay Indian chief, in these
words:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;I had a lively time with old Kobetsi, the
war chief, whose name was Kobetsi-bis, which
in the Makah language means frost. I had been
directed by Agent Webster to make a survey
of the reservation as far south as the Tsoess
river, where Kobetsi lived, and claimed exclu<span class="pagenum">[Pg 416]</span>sive
ownership to the cranberry meadows along
the bank of that river. He was then at his summer
residence on Tatoosh Island. The Makah
Indians had seen and understood something of
the mariner&#8217;s compass, but a surveyor&#8217;s compass
was a riddle to them.</p>

<p>&#8220;A slave of Kobetsi, who had seen me at work
on the cranberry meadows, hurried to Tatoosh
Island and reported that I was working a tamanuse,
or magic, by which I could collect all the
cranberries in one pile, and that Peter had sold
me the land. This enraged the old ruffian, and
he came up to Neah Bay with sixteen braves,
with their faces painted black, their long hair
tied in a knot on top of their heads with spruce
twigs, their regular war paint, and all whooping
and yelling. The old fellow declared he would
have my head. Peter and the others laughed at
him, and I explained to him what I had been
about. He was pacified with me, but on his return
to Tatoosh Island he shot the slave dead
for making a fool of his chief.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The same writer is responsible for this account
of a somewhat harsh practical joke; the
time was November, 1859, the place Port Angeles
Bay, in a log cabin where Captain Rufus Holmes
resided:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Uncle Rufus had a chum, a jolly, fat
butcher named Jones, who lived in Port Townsend,
and a great wag. He often visited Uncle
Rufus for a few days&#8217; hunt and always took<span class="pagenum">[Pg 417]</span>
along some grub. On one occasion he procured
an eagle, which he boiled for two days and then
managed to disjoint. When it was cold he carefully
wrapped the pieces in a cabbage leaf and
took it to Uncle Rufus as a wild swan, but somewhat
tough. The captain chopped it up with
onions and savory herbs and made a fine soup, of
which he partook heartily, Jones contenting himself
with some clam fritters and fried salmon, remarking
that it was his off day on soup. After
dinner the wretched wag informed him that he
had been eating an eagle, and produced the head
and claws as proof. This piece of news operated
on Uncle Rufus like an emetic, and after he had
earnestly expressed his gastronomic regrets,
Jones asked with feigned anxiety, &#8216;Did the soup
make you sick, Uncle Rufus?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Not to be outdone, the captain made reply,
&#8216;No, not the soup, but the thought I had been
eating one of the emblems of my country.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>A young man of lively disposition and consequently
popular, was the victim of an April
fool joke in the &#8220;auld lang syne.&#8221; Very fond
he was of playing tricks on others but some of the
hapless worms turned and planned a sweet and
neat revenge, well knowing it was hard to get
ahead of the shrewd and witty youth. A &#8220;two-bit&#8221;
piece, which had likely adorned the neck or
ear of an Indian belle, as it had a hole pierced
in it, was nailed securely to the floor of the postoffice
in the village of Seattle, and a group of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 418]</span>
loungers waited to see the result. Early on the
first, the young man before indicated walked
briskly and confidently in. Observing the coin
he stooped airily and essayed to pick it up, remarking,
&#8220;It isn&#8217;t everybody that can pick up
two bits so early in the morning!&#8221; &#8220;April Fool!&#8221;
and howls of laughter greeted his failure to
pocket the coin. With burning face he sheepishly
called for his mail and hurried out with the
derisive shout of &#8220;It isn&#8217;t everybody that can
pick up two bits so early in the morning, Ha! ha!
ha!&#8221; ringing in his ears.</p>

<p>Such fragments of early history as the following
are frequently afloat in the literature of
the Sound country:</p>

<blockquote><p class="title">&#8220;THEY VOTED THEMSELVES GUNS.</p>

<p>&#8220;How Pioneer Legislators Equipped Themselves
to Fight the Indians.</p>

<p>&#8220;If the state legislature should vote to each
member of both houses a first-class rifle, a sensation
indeed would be created. But few are aware
that such a precedent has been established by a
legislature of Washington Territory. It has been
so long ago, though, that the incident has almost
faded from memory, and there are but few of the
members to relate the circumstances.</p>

<p>&#8220;It was in 1855, when I was a member of the
council, that we passed a law giving each legislator
a rifle,&#8221; said Hon. R. S. Robinson, a wealthy
old pioneer farmer living near Chimacum in Jefferson
County, while going to Port Townsend<span class="pagenum">[Pg 419]</span>
the other night on the steamer Rosalie. Being in
a reminiscent humor, he told about the exciting
times the pioneers experienced in both dodging
Indians and navigating the waters of Puget
Sound in frail canoes.</p>

<p>&#8220;It was just preceding the Indian outbreak
of 1855-6, the settlers were apprehensive of a
sudden onslaught,&#8221; continued Mr. Robinson.
&#8220;Gov. Stevens had secured from the war department
several stands of small arms and ammunition,
which were intended for general distribution,
and we thought one feasible plan was to provide
each legislator with a rifle and ammunition.
Many times since I have thought of the incident,
and how ridiculous it would seem if our present
legislature adopted our course as a precedent,
and armed each member at the state&#8217;s expense.
Things have changed considerably. In those
days guns and ammunition were perquisites.
Now it is stationery, lead pencils and waste
baskets.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Among other incidents related by a speaker
whose subject was &#8220;Primitive Justice,&#8221; was
heard this story at a picnic of the pioneers:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;An instance in which I was particularly
interested being connected with the administration
of the sheriff&#8217;s office occurred in what is now
Shoshone County, Idaho, but was then a part of
Washington Territory. A man was brought into
the town charged with a crime; he was taken
before the justice at once, but the trial was ad<span class="pagenum">[Pg 420]</span>journed
because the man was drunk. The sheriff
took the prisoner down the trail, but before he
had gone far the man fell down in a drunken
sleep. A wagon bed lay handy and this was
turned over the man and weighted down with
stones to prevent his escape. The next morning
he was again brought before the justice, who,
finding him guilty, sentenced him to thirty days
confinement <i>in the jail from whence he had come</i>
and to be fed on bread and water.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>No doubt this was a heavy punishment, especially
the water diet.</p>

<p>An incident occurred in that historic building,
the Yesler cook house, never before published.</p>

<p>A big, powerful man named Emmick, generally
known as &#8220;Californy,&#8221; was engaged one
morning in a game of fisticuffs of more or less
seriousness, when Bill Carr, a small man, stepped
up and struck Emmick, who was too busy with
his opponent just then to pay any attention to
the impertinent meddler. Nevertheless he bided
his time, although &#8220;Bill&#8221; made himself quite
scarce and was nowhere to be seen when &#8220;Californy&#8217;s&#8221;
bulky form cast a shadow on the sawdust.
After a while, however, he grew more
confident and returned to a favorite position in
front of the fire in the old cook house. He was
just comfortably settled when in came &#8220;Californy,&#8221;
who pounced on him like a wildcat on a
rabbit, stood him on his head and holding him by<span class="pagenum">[Pg 421]</span>
the heels &#8220;chucked&#8221; him up and down like a
dasher on an old-fashioned churn, until Carr
was much subdued, then left him to such reflections
as were possible to an all but cracked cranium.
It is safe to say he did not soon again
meddle with strife.</p>

<p>This mode of punishment offers tempting
possibilities in cases where the self-conceit of
small people is offensively thrust upon their
superiors.</p>

<p>The village of Seattle crept up the hill from
the shore of Elliott Bay, by the laborious removal
of the heavy forest, cutting, burning and grubbing
of trees and stumps, grading and building of
neat residences.</p>

<p>In the clearing of a certain piece of property
between Fourth and Fifth streets, on Columbia,
Seattle, now in the heart of the city, three pioneers
participated in a somewhat unique experience.
One of them, the irrepressible &#8220;Gard&#8221; or
Gardner Kellogg, now well known as the very
popular chief of the fire department of Seattle,
has often told the story, which runs somewhat
like this:</p>

<p>Mr. and Mrs. Gardner Kellogg were dining
on a Sunday, with the latter&#8217;s sister and her husband,
Mr. and Mrs. O. C. Shorey, as they often
did, at their home on Third Avenue. It was a
cold, drizzly day, but in spite of that &#8220;Gard&#8221; and
Mr. Shorey walked out to the edge of the clearing,
where the dense young fir trees still held the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 422]</span>
ground, and the former was soon pushing up a
stump fire on his lots.</p>

<p>As he poked the fire a bright thought occurred
to him and he observed to his companion
that he believed it &#8220;would save a lot of hard
work, digging out the roots, to bring up that old
shell and put it under the stump.&#8221;</p>

<p>The &#8220;old shell&#8221; was one that had been
thrown from the sloop-of-war &#8220;Decatur&#8221; during
the Indian war, and had buried itself in the earth
without exploding. In excavating for the Kellogg&#8217;s
wood house it had been unearthed.</p>

<p>Mr. Shorey thought it might not be safe if
some one should pass by: &#8220;O, nobody will come
out this way this miserable day; it may not go off
anyway,&#8221; was the answer.</p>

<p>So the shell was brought up and they dug
under the roots of the stump, put it in and returned
to the Shorey residence.</p>

<p>When they told what they had done, it was,
agreed that it was extremely unlikely that anyone
would take a pleasure walk in that direction
on so gloomy a day.</p>

<p>Meanwhile a worthy citizen of the little
burgh had gone roaming in search of his stray
cow. As before stated, it was a chilly, damp
day, and the man who was looking for his cow,
Mr. Dexter Horton, for it was none other than
he, seeing the fire, was moved to comfort himself
with its genial warmth.</p>

<p>He advanced toward it and spread his hands<span class="pagenum"><a id="page423" name="page423">[Pg 423]</a></span>
benignantly as though blessing the man that invented
fire, rubbed his palms together in a mute
ecstasy of mellow satisfaction and then reversed
his position, lifted his coat-tails and set his feet
wide apart, even as a man doth at his own peaceful
hearthstone. The radiant energy had not
time to reach the marrow when a terrific explosion
took place. It threw earth, roots and splinters,
firebrands and coals, yards away, hurled the
whilom fire-worshiper a considerable distance,
cautioned him with a piece of hot iron that just
missed his face, covered him with the debris,
mystified and stupefied him, but fortunately did
not inflict any permanent injury.</p>

<p>As he recovered the use of his faculties the
idea gained upon him that it was a mean, low-down
trick anyhow to blow up stumps that way.
He was very much disgusted and refused very
naturally to see anything funny about it; but as
time passed by and he recovered from the shock,
the ludicrous side appeared and he was content
to let it be regarded as a pioneer pleasantry.</p>

<p>The innocent perpetrator of this amazing
joke has no doubt laughed long and loud many
times as he has pictured to himself the vast astonishment
of his fellow townsman, and tells the
story often, with the keenest relish, to appreciative
listeners.</p>

<p>Yes, to be blown up by an old bomb-shell on
a quiet Sunday afternoon, while resting beside a
benevolent looking stump-fire that not even re<span class="pagenum">[Pg 424]</span>motely
suggested warlike demonstrations, was
rather tough.</p>

<p class="title">HOW BEAN&#8217;S POINT WAS NAMED.</p>

<p>Opposite Alki Point was a fine prairie of
about forty acres to which C. C. Terry at first laid
claim. Some of the earliest settlers of the first
mentioned locality crossed the water, taking their
cattle, ploughed and planted potatoes on this
prairie. Terry subsequently settled elsewhere
and the place was settled on by a large man of
about sixty years, a Nova Scotian, it was supposed,
who bore the name of <i>Bean</i>. This lonely
settler was a sort of spiritualist; in Fort Decatur,
while one of a group around a stove, he leaned his
arm on the wall and when a natural tremor resulted,
insisted that the &#8220;spirits&#8221; did it. After
the war he returned to his cabin and while in his
bed, probably asleep, was shot and killed by an
Indian. Since then the place has been known
as Bean&#8217;s Point.</p>

<p>Dr. H. A. Smith, the happiest story-teller
of pioneer days, relates in his &#8220;Early Reminiscences&#8221;
how &#8220;Dick Atkins played the dickens
with poor old Beaty&#8217;s appetite for cheese&#8221; in this
engaging manner:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;One day when he (Dick Atkins) was merchandising
on Commercial Street, Seattle, as
successor to Horton &amp; Denny, he laid a piece of
cheese on the stove to fry for his dinner. A
dozen loafers were around the stove and among
them Mr. Beaty, remarkable principally for his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page425" name="page425">[Pg 425]</a></span>
appetite, big feet and good nature. And he on
this occasion good-naturedly took the cheese
from the stove and cooled and swallowed it without
waiting to say grace, while Dick was in the
back room, waiting on a customer. When the
cheese was fairly out of sight, Beaty grew uneasy
and skedadled up the street. When Atkins returned
and found his cheese missing, and was
told what became of it, he rushed to the door
just in time to catch sight of Beaty&#8217;s coat-tail
going into Dr. Williamson&#8217;s store. Without returning
for his coat or hat, off he darted at full
speed. Beaty had fairly got seated, when Dick
stood before him and fairly screamed:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Did you eat that cheese?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Wal&mdash;yes&mdash;but I didn&#8217;t think you&#8217;d care
much.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Care! Care! good thunder, no! but I
thought <i>you</i> might care, as I had just put a
DOUBLE DOSE OF ARSENIC in it to kill
rats.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Don&#8217;t say!&#8217; exclaimed Beaty, jumping to
his feet, &#8216;thought it tasted mighty queer; what
can I do?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Come right along with me; there is only
one thing that can save you.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;And down the street they flew as fast as
their feet would carry them. As soon as they
had arrived at the store, Atkins drew off a pint
of rancid fish-oil and handed it to Beaty saying,
&#8216;Swallow it quick! Your life depends upon it!&#8217;</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 426]</span>&#8220;Poor Beaty was too badly frightened to
hesitate, and after a few gags, pauses and wry
faces he handed back the cup, drained to the bitter
dregs. &#8216;There now,&#8217; said Dick, &#8216;go home and
to bed, and if you are alive in the morning come
around and report yourself.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;After he was gone one of the spectators
asked if the cheese was really poisoned.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;No,&#8217; replied Dick, &#8216;and I intended telling
the gormand it was not, but when I saw that
look of gratitude come into his face as he handed
back the empty cup, my heart failed me, and my
revenge became my defeat.&#8217; &#8216;No, gentlemen,
Beaty is decidedly ahead in this little game. I
never before was beaten at a game of cold bluff
after having stacked the cards myself. I beg
you to keep the matter quiet, gentlemen.&#8217; But it
was always hard for a dozen men to keep a
secret.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>These same &#8220;Early Reminiscences&#8221; contain
many a merry tale, some &#8220;thrice told&#8221; to the
writer of this work, of the people who were familiar
figures on the streets of Seattle and other
settlements, in the long ago, among them two of
the Rev. J. F. DeVore, with whom I was acquainted.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;When he lived in Steilacoom, at a time
when that city was even smaller than it is now,
a certain would-be bully declared, with an oath,
that if it were not for the respect he had for the
&#8216;cloth,&#8217; he would let daylight through his portly<span class="pagenum">[Pg 427]</span>
ministerial carcass. Thereupon the &#8216;cloth&#8217; was
instantly stripped off and dashed upon the
ground, accompanied with the remark, &#8216;The
&#8220;cloth&#8221; never stands in the way of a good cause.
I am in a condition, now sir, to be enlightened.&#8217;
But instead of attempting to shed any light into
this luminary of the pulpit, whose eyes fairly
blazed with a light not altogether of this world,
the blustering bully lit out down the street at the
top of his speed.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The following has a perennial freshness, although
I have heard it a number of times:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;When Olympia was a struggling village
and much in need of a church, this portly, industrious
man of many talents took upon himself
the not overly pleasant task of raising subscriptions
for the enterprise, and in his rounds
called on Mr. Crosby, owner of the sawmill at
Tumwater, and asked how much lumber he would
contribute to the church. Mr. Crosby eyed the
&#8216;cloth&#8217; a moment and sarcastically replied, &#8216;As
much as <i>you</i>, sir, will raft and take away between
this and sundown.&#8217; &#8216;Show me the pile!&#8217; was the
unexpected rejoinder. Then laying off his coat
and beaver tile he waded in with an alacrity that
fairly made Mr. Crosby&#8217;s hair bristle. All day,
without stopping a moment, even for dinner, his
tall, stalwart form bent under large loads of
shingles, sheeting, siding, scantling, studding and
lath, and even large sills and plates were rolled
and tumbled into the bay with the agility of a<span class="pagenum">[Pg 428]</span>
giant, and before sundown Mr. Crosby had the
proud satisfaction of seeing the &#8216;cloth&#8217; triumphantly
poling a raft toward Olympia containing
lumber enough for a handsome church and a
splendid parsonage besides.</p>

<p>&#8220;Mr. Crosby was heard to say a few days
afterward that no ten men in his employ could,
or would, have done that day&#8217;s work. Meeting
the divine shortly afterwards, Mr. Crosby said,
&#8216;Well, parson, you can handle more lumber between
sunrise and dark than any man I ever
saw.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; said the parson, &#8216;I was working that
day for my Maker.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Moral: Never trust pioneer preachers
with your lumber pile, simply because they wear
broadcloth coats, for most of them know how to
take them off, and then they can work as well as
pray.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>This conjuror with the pen has called up
another well known personality of the earliest
times in the following sketch and anecdote:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Dr. Maynard was of medium size. He had
blue eyes, a square forehead, a strong face and
straight black hair, when worn short, but when
worn long, as it was when whitened by the snows
of many winters, it was quite curly and fell in
ringlets over his shoulders. Add to this description,
a long, gray beard, and you will see him
as he appeared on our streets when on his last
legs. When &#8216;half seas over,&#8217; he overflowed with<span class="pagenum">[Pg 429]</span>
generous impulses, would give away anything
within reach and was full of extravagant promises,
many of which were out of his power to
fulfill. He once owned Alki Point and sometimes
would move there in order to &#8216;reform,&#8217;
but seldom remained longer than a month or six
weeks. Alki Point was covered with huge logs
and stumps, excepting a little cleared ground
near the bay where the house stood. But when
the doctor saw it through his telescopic wine-glasses
it was transformed into a beautiful farm
with broad meadows covered with lowing herds
and prancing steeds whose &#8216;necks were clothed
with thunder.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;One day, in the fall of 1860, while viewing
his farm through his favorite glasses, David
Stanley, the venerable Salmon Bay hermit, happened
along, when Maynard gave him a glowing
description of his Alki Point farm as he himself
beheld it just then, and wound up by proposing
to take the old man in partnership, and
offered him half of the fruit and farm stock for
simply looking after it and keeping the fences
in repair. The temptation to gain sudden riches
was too much for even his unworldliness of mind,
and he made no delay in embarking for Alki
Point with all his worldly effects. His object in
living alone, was, he said, to comply with the injunction
to keep one&#8217;s self &#8216;unspotted from the
world,&#8217; but the doctor assured him that the
change would not seriously interfere with his<span class="pagenum">[Pg 430]</span>
meditations, inasmuch as few people landed at
Alki Point, notwithstanding its many attractions.</p>

<p>&#8220;The day of his departure for the Mecca of
all his earthly hopes turned out very stormy.
It was after dark before he reached the point,
and on trying to land his boat filled with water.
He lost many of his fowls and came near losing
his life in the boiling surf. After getting himself
and his &#8216;traps&#8217; ashore, he built a fire, dried
his blankets, fried some bacon, ate a hearty supper
and turned in.</p>

<p>&#8220;The excitement of the day, however, prevented
sleep, and he got up and sat by the fire
till morning. As soon as it was light he strolled
out to look at the stock, but to his surprise, only a
bewildering maze of logs and interminable
stumps were to be seen where he expected to behold
broad fields and green pastures. The only
thing he could find resembling stock were&mdash;to use
his own language&mdash;&#8216;an old white horse, stiff in
all his joints and blind in one eye, and a little,
runty, scrubby, ornery, steer calf.&#8217; After wandering
about over and under logs till noon, he
concluded he had missed the doctor&#8217;s farm, and
returned to the beach with the intention of pulling
further around, but seeing some men in a boat
a short distance from shore, he hailed it and inquired
for Dr. Maynard&#8217;s farm. Charley Plummer
was one of the party and he told the old man
that he had the honor of being already upon it.<span class="pagenum">[Pg 431]</span>
Stanley explained his object in being there, and
after a fit of rib-breaking laughter, Mr. Plummer
advised him to return to Salmon Bay as soon as
possible, which he did the very next day.</p>

<p>&#8220;The old man had a keen sense of the ludicrous,
and joined heartily in the laugh, saying
he had been taken in a great many times in his
life, but never in so laughable manner as on this
occasion. A few days afterward as Charley
Plummer was sitting in Dr. Maynard&#8217;s office the
hermit put in an appearance. &#8216;Good afternoon,
doctor,&#8217; said he, with an air of profound respect.
&#8216;Why, how do you do, Uncle Stanley, glad to
see you&mdash;how does the poultry ranch prosper?
By the way, have you moved to Alki Point yet?&#8217;
&#8216;O, yes, I took my traps, poultry and all, over
there several days ago, and had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Plummer there. Did he mention
the circumstances?&#8217; &#8216;No,&#8217; said the doctor, &#8216;he
just came in. How did you find things?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;To tell the truth, doctor, I couldn&#8217;t rest
until I could see you and thank you from the bottom
of my heart for the inestimable blessing you
have conferred upon me.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;At this demonstration of satisfaction uttered
with an air of profound gratitude, the doctor
leaned back complacently in his easy chair,
while an expression of benignant self-approval
illuminated his benevolent face.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes,&#8217; continued he, &#8216;I can never be sufficiently
grateful for the benefit your generosity<span class="pagenum">[Pg 432]</span>
has already been to me individually, besides it
bids fair to prove a signal triumph for religion
and morality, and it may turn out to be a priceless
contribution to science.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;At the utterance of this unexpected &#8216;rhapsody&#8217;
the doctor turned with unalloyed delight,
and seeing that the old man hesitated, he encouraged
him by saying, &#8216;Go on, Uncle, go right along
and tell all about it, although I can&#8217;t understand
exactly how it can prove a triumph for religion
or science.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Well,&#8217; continued the old man with solemn
countenance, &#8216;my orthodoxy has been a little
shaky of late, in fact I have seriously doubted
the heavenly origin of various forms of inspiration,
but when I got to Alki Point and looked
around my skepticism fell from my eyes as did
the scales from the eyes of Saul of old.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes,&#8217; interrupted the doctor, &#8216;the scenery
over there is really grand and I have often felt
devotional myself while contemplating the grand
mountain scenery&mdash;&mdash;&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Scenery? Well&mdash;yes, I suppose there is
some scenery scattered around over there, but it
isn&#8217;t that.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;No, well what was it, uncle?&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Why, sir, as I was saying, when I get a
chance to fairly look around I was thoroughly
satisfied that nothing but a miracle, in fact, nothing
short of the ingenuity and power of the Almighty
could possibly have piled up so many<span class="pagenum">[Pg 433]</span>
logs and stumps to the acre as I found on your
<i>farm</i>.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Here the doctor&#8217;s face perceptibly lengthened
and a very dry laugh, a sort of hysterical
cross between a chuckle and a suppressed oath,
escaped him, but before he had time to speak the
old man went on:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;So much for the triumph of religion, but
science, sir, will be under much weightier obligations
to us when you and I succeed in making an
honest living from the progeny of an old blind
horse and a little, miserable runty steer calf.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;This was too much for the doctor and
springing to his feet he fairly shouted, &#8216;There,
there, old man, not another word! come right
along and I will stand treat for the whole town
and we will never mention Alki Point again.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;No, thank you,&#8217; said the hermit, dryly, &#8216;I
never indulge, and since you have been the means
of my conversion you ought to be the last man
in the world to lead me into temptation, besides
our income from the blind horse and runty steer
calf will hardly justify such extravagance.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Hat and cane in hand he got as far as the
door, when Maynard called to him saying, &#8216;Look
here, old man, I hope you&#8217;re not offended, and if
you will say nothing about this little matter, I&#8217;ll
doctor you the rest of your life for nothing.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;After scratching his head a moment the
hermit looked up and naively answered, &#8216;No, I&#8217;m
not mad, only astonished, and as for your free<span class="pagenum">[Pg 434]</span>
medicine, if it is all as bitter as the free dose you
have just given me, I don&#8217;t want any more of it,&#8217;
and he bowed himself out and was soon lost to the
doctor&#8217;s longing gaze. With eyes still fixed on
the door he exclaimed, &#8216;Blast my head if I
thought the old crackling had so much dry humor
in him. Come, Charley, let&#8217;s have something to
brave our nerves.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Among the unfortunate victims of the drink
habit in an early day was poor old Tom Jones.
Nature had endowed him with a splendid physique,
but he wrecked himself, traveling downward,
until he barely lived from hand to mouth.
He made a house on the old Conkling place, up
the bay toward the Duwampsh River, his tarrying
place. Having been absent from his customary
haunts for a considerable time, it was reported
that he was dead. In the village of Seattle,
some marauder had been robbing henroosts
and Tom Jones was accused of being the guilty
party. Grandfather John Denny told one of his
characteristic stories about being awakened by a
great commotion in his henhouse, the lusty cocks
crowing &#8220;Tom Jo-o-o-ones is dead! Tom Jo-o-o-ones
is dead!&#8221; rejoicing greatly that they were
henceforth safe.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny gathered up seven men and
went to investigate the truth of the report of his
demise. They found him rolled up in his blankets,
in his bunk, not dead but helplessly sick.
When they told him what they had come for&mdash;to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 435]</span>
hold an inquest over his dead body, the tears
rolled down his withered face. They had him
moved nearer town and cared for, but he finally
went the way of all the earth.</p>

<p>Another of the army of the wretched was
having an attack of the &#8220;devil&#8217;s trimmings,&#8221; as
Grandfather John Denny called them, in front of
a saloon one day and a group stood around waiting
for him to &#8220;come to&#8221;; upon his showing signs
of returning consciousness, <i>all but one</i> filed into
the saloon to get a nerve bracer. D. T. Denny, who
relates the incident, turned away, he being the
only temperance man in the group.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page436" name="page436">[Pg 436]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III.<br />

<span class="smaller">TRAILS OF COMMERCE.</span></h2>

<p>Samuel L. Simpson wrote this sympathetic
poem concerning the old Hudson Bay Company&#8217;s
steamer Beaver, the first steam vessel on the
North Pacific Coast. She came out from London
in 1836 and is well remembered by Puget
Sound pioneers. In 1889 she went on the rocks in
Burrard Inlet, British Columbia.</p>

<div class="poem" style="width:28em;">
<span class="i5">THE BEAVER&#8217;S REQUIEM.</span>

<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;Forlorn in the lonesome North she lies,</span>
<span class="i0">That never again will course the sea,</span>
<span class="i0">All heedless of calm or stormy skies,</span>
<span class="i0">Or the rocks to windward or a-lee;</span>
<span class="i1">For her day is done</span>
<span class="i1">And her last port won</span>
<span class="i0">Let the wild, sad waves her minstrel be.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;She will roam no more on the ocean trails,</span>
<span class="i0">Where her floating scarf of black was seen</span>
<span class="i0">Like a challenge proud to the shrieking gales</span>
<span class="i0">By the mighty shores of evergreen;</span>
<span class="i1">For she lies at rest</span>
<span class="i1">With a pulseless breast</span>
<span class="i0">In the rough sea&#8217;s clasp and all serene.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;How the world has changed since she kissed the tide</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 437]</span><span class="i0">Of the storied Thames in the Georgian reign,</span>
<span class="i0">And was pledged with wine as the bonny bride</span>
<span class="i0">Of the West&#8217;s isle-gemmed barbaric main&mdash;</span>
<span class="i1">With a dauntless form</span>
<span class="i1">That could breast the storm</span>
<span class="i0">As she wove the magic commercial chain.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;For Science has gemmed her brow with stars</span>
<span class="i0">From many and many a mystic field,</span>
<span class="i0">And the nations have stood in crimsoned wars</span>
<span class="i0">And thrones have fallen and empires reeled</span>
<span class="i1">Since she sailed that day</span>
<span class="i1">From the Thames away</span>
<span class="i0">Under God&#8217;s blue sky and St. George&#8217;s shield.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And the world to which, as a pioneer,</span>
<span class="i0">She first came trailing her plume of smoke,</span>
<span class="i0">Is beyond the dreams of the clearest seer</span>
<span class="i0">That ever in lofty symbols spoke&mdash;</span>
<span class="i1">In the arts of peace,</span>
<span class="i1">In all life&#8217;s increase,</span>
<span class="i0">And all the gold-browed stress invoke.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;A part of this was a work of hers,</span>
<span class="i0">In a daring life of fifty years;</span>
<span class="i0">But the sea-gulls now are her worshipers,</span>
<span class="i0">Wheeling with cries more sad than tears,</span>
<span class="i1">Where she lies alone</span>
<span class="i1">And the surges moan&mdash;</span>
<span class="i0">And slowly the north sky glooms and clears.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">&#8220;And may we not think when the pale mists glide,</span>
<span class="i0">Like the sheeted dead by that rocky shore,</span>
<span class="i0">That we hear in the rising, rolling tide</span>
<span class="i0">The call of the captain&#8217;s ring once more?</span>
<span class="i1">And it well might be,</span>
<span class="i1">So forlorn is she,</span>
<span class="i0">Where the weird winds sigh and wan birds soar.&#8221;</span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 438]</span></p>

<p>The development of the most easily reached
natural resources was necessarily first.</p>

<p>The timber and fisheries were a boundless
source of wealth in evidence.</p>

<p>As early as 1847, a sawmill run with power
afforded by the falls of the Des Chutes at Tumwater,
furnished lumber to settlers as a means
of profit.</p>

<p>The first cargo was taken by the brig <i>Orbit</i>
in 1850, to San Francisco, she being the first
American merchant vessel in the carrying trade
of Puget Sound. The brig <i>George Emory</i> followed
suit; each carried a return cargo of goods
for trade with the settlers and Indians.</p>

<p>At first the forest-fallers had no oxen to
drag the timbers, after they were hewn, to the
water&#8217;s edge, but rolled and hauled them by hand
as far as practicable. It was in this manner that
the brig <i>Leonesa</i> was loaded with piles at Alki
in the winter of 1851-2, by the Dennys, Terry,
Low, Boren and Bell.</p>

<p>Lee Terry brought a yoke of oxen to complete
the work of loading, from Puyallup, on the
beach, as there was no road through the heavy
forest.</p>

<p>Several ships were loaded at Port Townsend,
where the possession of three yoke of oxen
gave them a decided advantage.</p>

<p>One ship, the <i>G. W. Kendall</i>, was sent from
San Francisco to Puget Sound for ice. It is
needless to say the captain did not get a cargo<span class="pagenum">[Pg 439]</span>
of that luxury; he reported that water did not
freeze in Puget Sound and consoled the owner
of the ship by returning with a valuable cargo
of piles.</p>

<p>The cutting of logs to build houses and the
grubbing of stumps to clear the land for gardens
alternated with the cutting of piles. In the clearing
of land, the Indians proved a great assistance;
far from being lazy many of them were
hard workers and would dig and delve day after
day to remove the immense stumps of cedar and
fir left after cutting the great trees. The settlers
burned many by piling heaps of logs and
brush on them, others by boring holes far into the
wood and setting fire, while some were rent by
charges of powder when it could be afforded.</p>

<p>The clearing of land in this heavily timbered
country was an item of large expense if hired,
otherwise of much arduous toil for the owner.
The women and children often helped to pile
brush and set fires and many a merry party
turned out at night to &#8220;chunk up&#8221; the blazing
heaps; after nightfall, their fire-lit figure flitting
hither and yon against the purple darkness, suggested
well-intentioned witches.</p>

<p>Cutting down the tall trees, from two hundred
fifty to four hundred fifty feet, required
considerable care and skill. Sometimes we felt
the pathos of it all, when a huge giant, the dignified
product of patient centuries of growth,
fell crashing, groaning to the earth. This side<span class="pagenum">[Pg 440]</span>
of the subject, is presented in a poem &#8220;The Lone
Fir Tree,&#8221; not included in this volume.</p>

<p>When finally the small patches of land were
cleared, planted and tended, the returns were astonishing,
such marvelous vegetables, small
fruits and flowers, abundant and luxuriant, rewarded
the toiler. Nature herself, by her heaps
of vegetation, had foreshown the immense productiveness
of the soil.</p>

<p>In the river valleys were quite extensive
prairies, which afforded superior stock range,
but the main dependence of the people was in the
timber.</p>

<p>In 1852 H. L. Yesler came, who built the
first steam sawmill on Puget Sound, at Seattle.
Other mills sprang up at Port Ludlow, Port
Gamble, Port Madison and Port Blakely, making
the names of Meigs, Pope, Talbot, Keller,
Renton, Walker, Blinn and others, great in the
annals of sawmilling on Puget Sound.</p>

<p>This very interesting account concerning
Yesler&#8217;s sawmill and those who worked in it in
the early days was first published in a Seattle
paper many years ago:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The other day some of Parke&#8217;s men at work
on the foundation of the new Union Block on
Front, corner of Columbia Street, delving among
ancient fragments of piles, stranded logs and
other debris of sea-wreck, long buried at that
part of the waterfront, found at the bottom of
an excavation they were making, a mass of<span class="pagenum">[Pg 441]</span>
knotted iron, corroded, attenuated and salt-eaten,
which on being drawn out proved to be a couple
of ancient boom-chains.</p>

<p>&#8220;The scribe, thinking he might trace something
of the history of these ancient relics, hunted
up Mr. Yesler, whom, after considerable exploration
through the mazes of his wilderness on Third
and Jefferson Streets, he found, hose in
hand, watering a line of lilies, hollyhocks, penstemons,
ageratums, roses, et al.</p>

<p>&#8220;The subject of the interview being stated,
Mr. Yesler proceeded to relate: &#8216;Yes, after I
got my mill started in 1853, the first lot of logs
were furnished by Dr. Maynard. He came to
me and said he wanted to clear up a piece on
the spit, where he wanted to lay out and sell some
town lots. It was somewhere about where the
New England and Arlington now stand. The
location of the old mill is now an indeterminate
spot, somewhere back of Z. C. Miles&#8217; hardware
store. The spot where the old cookhouse stood
is in the intersection of Mill and Commercial
Streets, between the Colman Block and Gard.
Kellogg&#8217;s drug store. Hillory Butler and Bill
Gilliam had the contract from Maynard, and
they brought the logs to the mill by hand&mdash;rolled
or carried them in with handspikes. I warrant
you it was harder work than Hillory or Bill has
done for many a day since. Afterwards, Judge
Phillips, who went into partnership with Dexter<span class="pagenum">[Pg 442]</span>
Horton in the store, got out logs for me somewhere
up the bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;During the first five years after my mill
was started, cattle teams for logging were but
few on the Sound, and there were no steamboats
for towing rafts until 1858. Capt. John S. Hill&#8217;s
&#8220;<i>Ranger No. 2</i>,&#8221; which he brought up from San
Francisco, was the first of the kind, and George
A. Meigs&#8217; little tug <i>Resolute</i>, which blew up with
Capt. Johnny Guindon and his crew in 1861, came
on about the same time. A great deal of the
earliest logging on the Sound was done exclusively
by hand, the logs being thrown into the
water by handspikes and towed to the mill on
the tide by skiffs.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;In 1853 Hillory Butler took a contract to
get me out logs at Smith&#8217;s Cove. George F. Frye
was his teamster. In the fall of 1854 and spring
and summer of 1855, Edward Hanford and John
C. Holgate logged for me on their claims, south
of the townsite toward the head of the bay. T. D.
Hinckley was their teamster, also Jack Harvey.
On one occasion, when bringing in a raft to the
mill, John lost a diary which he was keeping and
I picked it up on the beach. The last entry it
contained read: &#8220;June 5, 1855. Started with a
raft for Yesler&#8217;s mill. Fell off into the water.&#8221;
I remember I wrote right after &#8220;and drowned,&#8221;
and returned the book. I don&#8217;t know how soon
afterward John learned from his own book of
his death by drowning.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 443]</span>&#8220;&#8216;The Indian war breaking out in the fall
of &#8217;55 put a stop to their logging operations, as
of all the rest.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;The Indians killed or drove off all the
cattle hereabouts and burned the dwellings of
Hanford, Holgate and Bell on the borders of
the town, besides destroying much other property
throughout the country.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;The logging outfits in those days were of
the most primitive and meager description. Rafts
were fastened together by ropes or light boom-chains.
Supplies of hardware and other necessaries
were brought up from San Francisco by
the lumber vessels on their return trips as ordered
by the loggers. I remember on one occasion
Edmund Carr, John A. Strickler, F. McNatt
and John Ross lost the product of a season&#8217;s
labor by their raft getting away from them and
going to pieces while in transit between the mill
and the head of the bay. My booming place was
on the north side of the mill along the beach
where now the foundations are going up for the
Toklas &amp; Singerman, Gasch, Melhorn and Lewis
brick block. There being no sufficient breakwater
thereabouts in those times, I used often to
lose a great many logs as well as boom-chains and
things by the rafts being broken up by storms.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;My mill in the pioneer times before the
Indian war furnished the chief resource of the
early citizens of the place for a subsistence.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;When there were not enough white men<span class="pagenum">[Pg 444]</span>
to be had for operating the mill, I employed Indians
and trained them to do the work. George
Frye was my sawyer up to the time he took
charge of the <i>John B. Libby</i> on the Whatcom
route. My engineers at different times were T.
D. Hinckley, L. V. Wyckoff, John T. Moss and
Douglass. Arthur A. Denny was screw-tender
in the mill for quite a while; D. T. Denny worked
at drawing in the logs. Nearly all the prominent
old settlers at some time or other were employed
in connection with the mill in some capacity,
either at logging or as mill hands. I loaded some
lumber for China and other foreign ports, as well
as San Francisco.&#8217;&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The primitive methods, crude appliances and
arduous toil in the early sawmills have given
place to palaces of modern mechanical contrivance
it would require a volume to describe, of
enormous output, loading hundreds of vessels for
unnumbered foreign ports, and putting in circulation
millions of dollars.</p>

<p>As a forcible contrast to Mr. Yesler&#8217;s reminiscence,
this specimen is given of modern milling,
entitled &#8220;Sawing Up a Forest,&#8221; representing
the business of but one of the great mills in
later days (1896) at work on Puget Sound:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;The best evidence of the revival of the lumber
trade of the Sound, is to be found at the great
Blakeley mill, where four hundred thousand feet
of lumber is being turned out every twenty-four<span class="pagenum">[Pg 445]</span>
hours, and the harbor is crowded with ships destined
for almost all parts of the world.</p>

<p>&#8220;One of the mill officials said, &#8216;We are at
present doing a large business with South American
and Australian ports, and expect with
proper attention to secure the South African
trade, which, if successful, will be a big thing.
We have the finest lumber in the world, and there
is no reason why we should not be doing five times
the business that is being done on the Sound.
Why, there is some first quality and some selected
Norway lumber out there on the wharf, and it
does not even compare with our second quality
lumber.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;The company has at present (1896) 350
men employed and between $15,000.00 and $20,000.00
in wages is paid out every month.</p>

<p>&#8220;The following vessels are now loading or
are loaded and ready to sail:</p>

<p>&#8220;Bark Columbia, for San Francisco, 700,000
feet; ship Aristomene, for Valparaiso, 1,450,000
feet; ship Earl Burgess, for Amsterdam, 1,250,000
feet; bark Mercury, for San Francisco,
1,000,000 feet; ship Corolla, for Valparaiso, 1,000,000
feet; barkentine Katie Flickinger, for
Fiji Islands, 550,000 feet; bark Matilda, for Honolulu,
650,000 feet; bark E. Ramilla, for Valparaiso,
700,000 feet; ship Beechbank, for Valparaiso,
2,000,000 feet.</p>

<p>&#8220;To load next week:</p>

<p>&#8220;Barkentine George C. Perkins, for Sidney,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 446]</span>
N. S. W., 550,000 feet; bark Guinevere, for Valparaiso,
850,000 feet.</p>

<p>&#8220;Those to arrive within the next two weeks:</p>

<p>&#8220;Bark Antoinette, for Valparaiso, 900,000
feet; barkentine J. L. Stanford, for Melbourne,
1,200,000 feet; ship Saga, for Valparaiso, 1,200,000
feet; bark George F. Manson, for Shanghai,
China, 950,000 feet; ship Harvester, for South
Africa, 1,000,000 feet.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Shingle making was a prominent early industry.
The process was slow, done entirely by
hand, in vivid contrast with the great facility and
productiveness of the modern shingle mills of this
region; in consequence of the slowness of manufacture
they formerly brought a much higher
price. It was an ideal occupation at that time.
After the mammoth cedars were felled, sawn and
rived asunder, the shingle-maker sat in the midst
of the opening in the great forest, towering walls
of green on all sides, with the blue sky overhead
and fragrant wood spread all around, from which
he shaped the thin, flat pieces by shaving them
with a drawing knife.</p>

<p>Cutting and hewing spars to load ships for
foreign markets began before 1856.</p>

<p>As recorded in a San Francisco paper:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;In 1855, the bark Anadyr sailed from Utsalady
on Puget Sound, with a cargo of spars for
the French navy yard at Brest. In 1857 the same
ship took a load from the same place to an English
navy yard.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 447]</span>&#8220;To China, Spain, Mauritius and many
other places, went the tough, enduring, flexible
fir tree of Puget Sound. The severe test applied
have proven the Douglas fir to be without an
equal in the making of masts and spars.</p>

<p>&#8220;In later days the Fram, of Arctic fame,
was built of Puget Sound fir.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>The discovery and opening of the coal
mines near Seattle marks an epoch in the commerce
of the Northwest.</p>

<p>As early as 1859 coal was found and mined
on a small scale east of Seattle.</p>

<p>The first company, formed in 1866-7, was
composed of old and well-known citizens: D.
Bagley, G. F. Whitworth and Selucius Garfield,
who was called the &#8220;silver-tongued orator.&#8221; Others
joined in the enterprise of developing the
mines, which were found to be extensive and
valuable. Legislation favored them and transportation
facilities grew.</p>

<p>The names of McGilvra, Yesler, Denny and
Robinson were prominent in the work. Tramways,
chutes, inclines, tugboats, barges, coalcars
and locomotives brought out the coal to deep
water on the Sound, across Lakes Washington
and Union, and three pieces of railroad. A long
trestle at the foot of Pike Street, Seattle, at
which the ship &#8220;Belle Isle,&#8221; among others, often
loaded, fell in, demolished by the work of the
teredo.</p>

<p>The writer remembers two startling trips up<span class="pagenum">[Pg 448]</span>
the incline, nine hundred feet long, on the east
side of Lake Washington, in an empty coal car,
the second time duly warned by the operatives
that the day before a car load of furniture had
been &#8220;let go&#8221; over the incline and smashed to
kindlingwood long before it reached the bottom.
The trips were made amidst an oppressive
silence and were never repeated.</p>

<p>The combined coal fields of Washington
cover an area of one thousand six hundred fifty
square miles. Since the earliest developments
great strides have been made and a large number
of coal mines are operated, such as the Black
Diamond, Gilman, Franklin, Wilkeson, the U.
S. government standard, Carbonado, Roslyn, etc.,
with a host of underground workers and huge
steam colliers to carry an immense output.</p>

<p>The carrying of the first telegraph line
through the dense forest was another step forward.
Often the forest trees were pressed into
service and insulators became the strange ornaments
of the monarchs of the trackless wilderness.</p>

<p>Pioneer surveyors, of whom A. A. Denny
was one, journalists, lawyers and other professional
men, with the craftsmen, carpenters who
helped to repair the Decatur and build the fort,
masons who helped to build the old University
of Washington, and other industrious workers
brought to mind might each and every one fur<span class="pagenum">[Pg 449]</span>nish
a volume of unique and interesting reminiscence.</p>

<p>The women pioneers certainly demand a
work devoted to them alone.</p>

<p>Simultaneously with the commercial and
political development, the educational and religious
took place. The children of the pioneers
were early gathered in schools and the parents
preceded the teachers or supplemented their efforts
with great earnestness. Books, papers and
magazines were bountifully provided and both
children and grown people read with avidity.
For many years the mails came slowly, but when
the brimming bags were emptied, the contents
were eagerly seized upon, and being almost altogether
eastern periodical literature, the children
narrowly escaped acquiring the mental squint
which O. W. Holmes speaks of having affected
the youth of the East from the perusal of English
literature.</p>

<p>The pioneer mail service was one of hardship
and danger. The first mail overland in the
Sound region was carried by A. B. Rabbeson in
1851, and could not have been voluminous, as it
was transported in his pockets while he rode
horseback.</p>

<p>A well known mail carrier of early days was
Nes Jacob Ohm or &#8220;Dutch Ned,&#8221; as every one
called him. He, with his yellow dog and sallow
cayuse, was regarded as an indispensable institution.
All three stood the test of travel on the<span class="pagenum">[Pg 450]</span>
trail for many years. The yellow canine had
quite a reputation as a panther dog, and no doubt
was a needed protection in the dark wild forest,
but he has long since gone where the good dogs
go and the cayuse probably likewise.</p>

<p>&#8220;Ned&#8221; was somewhat eccentric though a
faithful servant of the public. In common with
other forerunners of civilization he was a little
superstitious.</p>

<p>One winter night, grown weary of drowsing
by his bright, warm fireplace in his little cabin,
he began to walk back and forth in an absent-minded
way, when suddenly his hair fairly stood
on end; there were two stealthy shadows following
him every where he turned. In what state
of mind he passed the remainder of the night is
unknown, but soon after he related the incident
to his friends evincing much anxiety as to what
it might signify. Probably he had two lights
burning in different parts of the room or sufficiently
bright separate flames in the fireplace.</p>

<p>Doubtless it remained a mystery unexplained
to him, to the end of his days.</p>

<p>The pioneer merchants who traded with the
Indians, and swapped calico and sugar for butter
and eggs, with the settlers, pioneer steamboat
men who ran the diminutive steamers between
Olympia and Seattle, pioneer editors, who published
tri-weeklies whose news did not come in
daily, pioneer milliners who &#8220;did up&#8221; the hats
of the other pioneer women with taste and neat<span class="pagenum">[Pg 451]</span>ness,
pioneer legislators, blacksmiths, bakers,
shoemakers, foundry men, shipbuilders, etc.,
blazed the trails of commerce where now there
are broad highways.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page452" name="page452">[Pg 452]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV<br />

<span class="smaller">BUILDING OF THE TERRITORIAL UNIVERSITY.</span></h2>

<p>Early in 1861, the University Commissioners,
Rev. D. Bagley, John Webster and Edmund
Carr, selected the site for the proposed building,
ten acres in Seattle, described as a &#8220;beautiful
eminence overlooking Elliott Bay and Puget
Sound.&#8221; A. A. Denny donated eight and a fraction
acres, Terry and Lander, one and a fraction
acres. The structure was fifty by eighty feet,
two stories in height, beside belfry and observatory.
There were four rooms above, including
the grand lecture room, thirty-six by eighty feet,
and six rooms below, beside the entrance hall of
twelve feet, running through the whole building.</p>

<p>The president&#8217;s house was forty by fifty,
with a solid foundation of brick and cement cellar;
the boarding house twenty-four by forty-eight,
intended to have an extension when needed.
A supply was provided of the purest spring
water, running through one thousand four hundred
feet of charred pump logs.</p>

<p>Buildings of such dimensions were not common
in the Northwest in those days; materials
were expensive and money was scarce.</p>

<p>It was chiefly through the efforts of John
Denny that a large appropriation of land was
made by Congress for the benefit of the new-born<span class="pagenum">[Pg 453]</span>
institution. Although advanced in years, his hair
as white as snow, he made the long journey to
Washington city and return when months were
required to accomplish it.</p>

<p>By the sale of these lands the expense of construction
and purchase of material were met.
The land was then worth but one dollar and a
half per acre, but enough was sold to amount to
$30,400.69.</p>

<p>At that time the site lay in the midst of a
heavy forest, through which a trail was made in
order to reach it.</p>

<p>Of the ten-acre campus, seven acres were
cleared of the tall fir and cedar trees at an expense
of two hundred and seventy-five dollars
per acre, the remaining three were worse, at three
hundred and sixteen dollars per acre.</p>

<p>The method of removing these forest giants
was unique and imposing. The workers partially
grubbed perhaps twenty trees standing near each
other, then dispatched a sailor aloft in their airy
tops to hitch them together with a cable and descend
to terra firma. A king among the trees was
chosen whose downfall should destroy his companions,
and relentlessly uprooting it, the tree-fallers
suddenly and breathlessly withdrew to
witness a grand sight, the whole group of unnumbered
centuries&#8217; growth go crashing down at
once. They would scarcely have been human had
they uttered no shout of triumph at such a spectacle.
To see but one great, towering fir tree<span class="pagenum">[Pg 454]</span>
go grandly to the earth with rush of boughs and
thunderous sound is a thrilling, pathetic and awe-inspiring
sight.</p>

<p>About the center of the tract was left a tall
cedar tree to which was added a topmast. The
tree, shorn of its limbs and peeled clean of bark,
was used for a flagstaff.</p>

<p>The old account books, growing yearly more
curious and valuable, show that the majority of
the old pioneers joined heartily in the undertaking
and did valiant work in building the old University.</p>

<p>They dug, hewed, cleared land, hauled materials,
exchanged commodities, busily toiled from
morn to night, traveled hither and yon, in short
did everything that brains, muscle and energy
could accomplish in the face of what now would
be deemed well nigh insurmountable obstacles.
The president of the board of commissioners, the
Rev. D. Bagley, has said that in looking back
upon it he was simply foolhardy. &#8220;Why, we had
not a dollar to begin with,&#8221; said he; nevertheless
pluck and determination accomplished wonders;
many of the people took the lands at one dollar
and a half an acre, in payment for work and materials.</p>

<p>Clarence B. Bagley, son of Rev. D. Bagley,
is authority for the following statement, made
in 1896:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Forty-eight persons were employed on the
work and nearly all the lumber for the building<span class="pagenum">[Pg 455]</span>
was secured from the mills at Port Blakeley and
Port Madison, while the white pine of the finishing
siding, doors, sash, etc., came from a mill
at Seabeck, on Hood Canal. I have been looking
over the books my father kept at that time and
find the names of many persons whom all old-timers
will remember. I found the entry relating
to receiving 10,000 brick from Capt. H. H.
Roeder, the price being $15.50 per thousand,
while lime was $3 per barrel and cement $4.50 per
barrel. Another entry shows that seven gross of
ordinary wood screws cost in that early day
$9.78. Capt. Roeder is now a resident of Whatcom
County. The wages then were not very high,
the ordinary workman receiving $2 and $2.25
per day and the carpenters and masons $4 per
day.</p>

<p>&#8220;On the 10th of March, John Pike and his
son, Harvey Pike, began to clear the ground for
the buildings and a few days later James Crow
and myself commenced. The Pikes cleared the
acre of ground in the southeast corner and we
cleared the acre just adjoining, so that we four
grubbed the land on which the principal building
now stands. All the trees were cut down and the
land leveled off, and the trees which now grace
the grounds started from seeds and commenced to
grow up a few years later and are now about
twenty-five years old. Among the men who helped
clear the land were: Hillory Butler, John Carr,
W. H. Hyde, Edward Richardson, L. Holgate,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 456]</span>
H. A. Atkins, Jim Hunt, L. B. Andrews, L. Pinkham,
Ira Woodin, Dr. Josiah Settle, Parmelee &amp;
Dudley, and of that number that are now dead
are Carr, Hyde, Holgate, Atkins and Parmelee
and Dudley. Mr. Crow is now living at Kent and
owns a good deal of property there. Mr. Carr
was a relative of the Hanfords. Mr. Holgate
was a brother of the Holgate who was killed in
Seattle during the Indian war, being shot dead
while standing at the door of the fort. He was
an uncle of the Hanfords. Mr. Atkins was mayor
of the town at one time.</p>

<p>&#8220;R. King, who dressed the flagstaff, is not
among the living. The teamsters who did most
of the hauling were Hillory Butler, Thomas Mercer
and D. B. Ward, all of whom are still living.
William White was blacksmith here then
and did a good deal of work on the building. He
is now living in California and is well-to-do, but
his son is still a resident of Seattle. Thomas
Russell was the contractor for putting up the
frame of the university building. He died some
time since and of his estate there is left the Russell
House, and his family is well known. John
Dodge and John T. Jordan did a good deal of
the mason work, both of whom are now dead, but
they have children who still live in this city. The
stone for the foundation was secured from Port
Orchard and the lime came from Victoria, being
secured here at a large cost.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>George Austin, who raised the flagstaff and<span class="pagenum">[Pg 457]</span>
put the top on, has been dead many years. Dexter
Horton and Yesler, Denny &amp; Co. kept stores
in those days and furnished the nails, hardware
and general merchandise. Mr. Horton&#8217;s store
was where the bank now stands and the store of
Yesler, Denny &amp; Co. was where the National
Bank of Commerce now stands. L. V. Wyckoff,
the father of Van Wyckoff, who was sheriff of
the county for many years, did considerable hauling
and draying. He also is dead. Frank Mathias
was a carpenter and did a good deal of the
finishing work. He died in California and his
heirs have since been fighting for his estate.</p>

<p>H. McAlear kept a stove and hardware store
and furnished the stoves for the building. He
is now dead and there has been a contest over
some of his property in the famous Hill tract in
this city.</p>

<p>D. C. Beatty and R. H. Beatty, not relatives,
were both carpenters. The former is now living
on a farm near Olympia and the latter is in the
insane asylum at Steilacoom. Ira Woodin is
still alive and is the founder of Woodinville. In
the early days Mr. Woodin and his father owned
the only tannery in the country, which was located
at the corner of South Fourth Street and
Yesler Avenue, then Mill Street. O. J. Carr,
whose name appears as a carpenter, lives at
Edgewater. He was the postmaster of the town
for many years.</p>

<p>O. C. Shorey and A. P. DeLin, as &#8220;Shorey<span class="pagenum">[Pg 458]</span>
&amp; DeLin,&#8221; furnished the desks for the several
rooms and also made the columns that grace the
front entrance to the building.</p>

<p>Plummer &amp; Hinds furnished some of the
materials used in the construction. George W.
Harris, the banker, auditor of the Lake Shore
road, is a stepson of Mr. Plummer.</p>

<p>Jordan and Thorndyke were plasterers and
both have been dead for many years.</p>

<p>David Graham, who did some of the grading,
is still living in Seattle. A. S. Mercer did
most of the grading with Mr. Graham. Mr. Mercer
is a brother of Thomas Mercer, who brought
out two parties of young ladies from the Atlantic
Coast by sea, many of whom are married and
are now living in Seattle. Harry Hitchcock, one
of the carpenters, is now dead. Harry Gordon
was a painter and was quite well known for some
years. He finally went East, and I think is still
living, although I have not heard from him for
many years. Of the three who composed the
board of university commissioners Mr. Carr and
Mr. Webster are dead.</p>

<p>All the paint, varnishes, brushes, etc., were
purchased in Victoria and the heavy duties made
the cost very high; in fact, everything was costly
in those days. An entry is made of a keg of
lath nails which cost $15, and a common wooden
wheelbarrow cost $7. The old bell came from
the East, and cost, laid down in Seattle, $295. It
cost $50 to put in position, and thus the whole<span class="pagenum"><a id="page459" name="page459">[Pg 459]</a></span>
cost was nearly $350. It is made of steel and was
rung from the tower for the first time in March,
1862.</p>

<p>The only tinner in the place covered the
cupola where hung the bell. Its widely reaching
voice proclaimed many things beside the call to
studies, fulfilling often the office of bell-buoy and
fog-horn to distracted mariners wandering in
fog and smoke, and giving alarm in case of fire.
The succeeding lines set forth exactly historical
facts as well as expressing the attachment of the
old pupils to the bell and indeed to the university
itself:</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i5">THE VOICE OF THE OLD UNIVERSITY BELL.</span>
<br />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A vibrant voice thrilled through the air,</span>
<span class="i0">Now here, now there, seemed everywhere;</span>
<span class="i0">My young thoughts stirred, laid away in a shroud,</span>
<span class="i0">And joyfully rose and walked abroad.</span>
<span class="i0">It was long ago in my youth and pride,</span>
<span class="i0">When my young thoughts lived and my young thoughts died,</span>
<span class="i0">And often and over all unafraid</span>
<span class="i0">They wander and wander like ghosts unlaid.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Through calm and storm for many a year,</span>
<span class="i0">I faithfully called my children dear,</span>
<span class="i0">And honest and urgent have been my tones</span>
<span class="i0">To hurry the laggard and hasten the drones,</span>
<span class="i0">But earnest and early or lazy and late</span>
<span class="i0">They toiled up the hill and entered the gate,</span>
<span class="i0">Across the campus they rushed pell-mell</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 460]</span><span class="i0">At the call of the old University bell.</span>
<span class="i0">If danger menaced on land or sea,</span>
<span class="i0">The note of warning loud and free;</span>
<span class="i0">Or a joyous peal in the twilight dim</span>
<span class="i0">Of the New Year&#8217;s dawn, after New Year&#8217;s hymn.</span>
<span class="i0">If a ship in the bay floated out ablaze,</span>
<span class="i0">Or the fog-wreaths blinded the mariner&#8217;s gaze,</span>
<span class="i0">Safe into port they steered them well,</span>
<span class="i0">Cheered by the old University bell.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When Lincoln the leader was stricken low,</span>
<span class="i0">O! a darker day may we never know,</span>
<span class="i0">A bitter wail from my heart was wrung</span>
<span class="i0">To float away from my iron tongue,</span>
<span class="i0">On storm-wing cast it traveled fast,</span>
<span class="i0">Above me writhed the flag half-mast.</span>
<span class="i0">My children wept, their fathers frowned,</span>
<span class="i0">With clenched hands looked down to the ground,</span>
<span class="i0">For the saddest note that ever fell</span>
<span class="i0">From the throat of the old University bell.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But deep was the joy and wild was the clamor,</span>
<span class="i0">With leaping hot haste they hurried the hammer,</span>
<span class="i0">When the battles were fought and the war was all over,</span>
<span class="i0">O&#8217;er the North and the South did the peace angels hover;</span>
<span class="i0">My children sang sweetly and softly and low</span>
<span class="i0">&#8220;The Union forever, is safe now we know,&#8221;</span>
<span class="i0">The years they may come and the years they may go,</span>
<span class="i0">And hearts that were loyal will ever be so.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There&#8217;s a long roll-call, I ring over all</span>
<span class="i0">That have harkened and answered in the old hall;</span>
<span class="i0">Adams and Andrews, (from A unto Z,</span>
<span class="i0">Alphabetic arrangement as any can see),</span>
<span class="i0">Bonney and Bagley and Mercer and Hays,</span>
<span class="i0">Francis and Denny in bygone days,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 461]</span><span class="i0">Hastings and Ebey, the Oregon Strongs,</span>
<span class="i0">And many another whose name belongs</span>
<span class="i0">To fame and the world, or has passed away</span>
<span class="i0">To realms that are bright with endless day.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The presidents ruled with a right good will,</span>
<span class="i0">Mercer and Barnard, Whitworth and Hill,</span>
<span class="i0">Anderson, Powell, Gatch and Hall,</span>
<span class="i0">Harrington now and I&#8217;ve named them all.</span>
<span class="i0">Witten and Thayer, Hansee and Lee,</span>
<span class="i0">The wise professors were fair to see,</span>
<span class="i0">They strictly commanded, did study compel</span>
<span class="i0">At the call of the old University bell.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Osborne, McCarty, Thornton and Spain,</span>
<span class="i0">With their companions in sunshine and rain,</span>
<span class="i0">Back in the seventies, might tell what befell</span>
<span class="i0">At the ring of the old University bell.</span>
<span class="i0">The eighties came on and the roll-call grew longer</span>
<span class="i0">Emboldened with learning, my voice rang the stronger;</span>
<span class="i0">The day of Commencement saw young men and maids</span>
<span class="i0">Proudly emerge from the classic shades</span>
<span class="i0">Where oft they had heard and heeded well</span>
<span class="i0">The voice of the old University bell.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They bore me away to a shrine new and fine,</span>
<span class="i0">Where the pilgrims of learning with yearning incline;</span>
<span class="i0">Enwrapped they now seem, in a flowery dream,</span>
<span class="i0">The stars of good fortune so radiant beam.</span>
<span class="i0">Of the long roll call not one is forgot,</span>
<span class="i0">If sorrow beset them or happy their lot;</span>
<span class="i0">My wandering children all love me so well,</span>
<span class="i0">Their life-work done, they&#8217;ll wish a soft knell</span>
<span class="i0">Might be tolled by the old University bell.</span>
</div></div>

<p>Such is the force of habit that it was many
years before I could shake off the inclination to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 462]</span>
obey the imperative summons of the old University
bell.</p>

<p>With other small children, I ran about on
the huge timbers of the foundation, in the dusk
when the workmen were gone, glancing around
a little fearfully at the dark shadows in the thick
woods, and then running home as fast as our
truant feet could carry us.</p>

<p>The laying of the cornerstone was an imposing
ceremony to our minds and a significant as
well as gratifying occasion to our elders.</p>

<p>The speeches, waving of flags, salutes, Masonic
emblems and service with the music rendered
by a fine choir, accompanied by a pioneer
melodeon, made it quite as good as a Fourth
of July.</p>

<p>All the well-to-do ranchers and mill men
sent their children from every quarter. The
Ebeys of Whidby Island, Hays of Olympia,
Strongs of Oregon, Burnetts of down Sound and
Dennys of Seattle, beside the children of many
other prominent pioneers, received their introduction
to learning beneath its generous shelter.
A cheerful, energetic crowd they were with clear
brains and vigorous bodies.</p>

<p>The school was of necessity preparatory; in
modern slang, a University was rather previous
in those days.</p>

<p>But all out-of-doors was greater than our
books when it came to physical geography and
natural history, to say nothing of botany, geol<span class="pagenum">[Pg 463]</span>ogy,
etc. Observing eyes and quick wits discovered
many things not yet in this year of grace
set down in printed pages.</p>

<p>A curious thing, and rather absurd, was the
care taken to instruct us in &#8220;bounding&#8221; New
Hampshire, Vermont and all the rest of the
Eastern states, while owing to the lack of local
maps we were obliged to gain the most of our
knowledge of Washington by traveling over it.</p>

<p>The first instruction given within its walls
was in a little summer school taught by Mrs. O. J.
Carr, which I attended.</p>

<p>Previous to this my mother was my patient
and affectionate instructor, an experienced and
efficient one I will say, as teaching had been her
profession before coming west.</p>

<p>Asa Mercer was at the head of the University
for a time, followed by W. E. Barnard, under
whose sway it saw prosperous days. A careful
and painstaking teacher with a corps of teachers
fresh from eastern schools, and ably seconded
in his efforts by his lovely wife, a very accomplished
lady, he was successful in building
up the attendance and increasing the efficiency
of the institution. But after a time it languished,
and was closed, the funds running low.</p>

<p>Under the Rev. F. H. Whitworth it again
arose. It was then run with the common school
funds, which raised such opposition that it finally
came to a standstill.</p>

<p>D. T. Denny was a school director and coun<span class="pagenum">[Pg 464]</span>ty
treasurer at the same time, but could not pay
any monies to the University without an order
from the county superintendent. On one occasion
he was obliged to put a boy on horseback
and send him eleven miles through the forest
and back, making a twenty-two mile ride, to
obtain the required order.</p>

<p>The children and young people who attended
the University in the old times are scattered
far and wide, some have attained distinction in
their callings, many are worthy though obscure,
and some have passed away from earthly scenes.</p>

<p>We spoke our &#8220;pieces,&#8221; delivered orations,
wrote compositions, played ball games of one
or more &#8220;cats&#8221; and many old-fashioned games
in and around the big building and often climbed
up to the observatory to look out over the beautiful
bay and majestic mountains. That glistening
sheet of water often drew the eyes from the
dull page and occasionally an unwary pupil
would be reminded in a somewhat abrupt fashion
to proceed with his researches.</p>

<p>One afternoon a boy who had been gazing
on its changing surface for some minutes, caught
sight of a government vessel rounding the point,
and jumped up saying excitedly, &#8220;There&#8217;s a war
ship a-comin&#8217;!&#8221; to the consternation though
secret delight of the whole school.</p>

<p>&#8220;Well, don&#8217;t stop her,&#8221; dryly said the teacher,
and the boy subsided amid the smothered
laughter of his companions.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 465]</span>Cupid sometimes came to school then, as I
doubt not he does in these days, not as a learner
but distracter&mdash;to those who were his victims.</p>

<p>It&#8217;s my opinion, and I have it from St.
Catherine, he should have been set on the dunce
block and made to study Malthus.</p>

<p>Two notable victims are well remembered,
one a lovely blonde young girl, a beautiful singer;
the other as dark as a Spaniard, with melting
black eyes and raven tresses. They did not wait
to graduate but named the happy day. The
blonde married a Democratic editor, well known
in early journalism, the other a very popular
man, yet a resident of Seattle.</p>

<p>The whole of the second story of the University
consisted of one great hall or assembly
room with two small ante-rooms. Here the
school exhibitions were held, lectures and entertainments
given. Christmas trees, Sunday
schools, political meetings and I do not know
what else, although I think no balls were ever
permitted in those days, a modern degeneration
to my mind.</p>

<p>The old building has always been repainted
white until within a few years and stood among
the dark evergreen a thing of dignity and
beauty, the tall fluted columns with Doric capitals
being especially admired.</p>

<p>But changes will come; a magnificent, new,
expensive and ornate edifice has been provided<span class="pagenum">[Pg 466]</span>
with many modern adjuncts&mdash;and the old University
has been painted a grimy putty color!</p>

<p>The days of old, the golden days, will never
be forgotten by the students of the old University,
which, although perhaps not so comfortable
or elegant nor of so elevated a curriculum as the
new, compassed the wonderful beginnings of
things intellectual, sowing the seed that others
might harvest, planting the tree of knowledge
from which others should gather the fruit.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page467" name="page467">[Pg 467]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER V.<br />

<span class="smaller">A CHEHALIS LETTER, PENNED IN &#8217;52.</span></h2>

<p>
<span class="ralign">Mound Prairie, Chehalis River, near</span><br />
<span class="ralign">Mr. Ford&#8217;s Tavern, Lewis County,</span><br />
<span class="ralign">Oregon Territory. 14 Nov. 1852.</span><br />
</p>

<p>My dear Elizabeth:</p>

<p>I believe this is the first letter I have addressed
to you since we removed from Wisconsin,
and I feel truly thankful to say that through
the infinite mercy of God both my family and
self have been in the enjoyment of excellent, uninterrupted
health.</p>

<p>The last letter we received from Wisconsin
was from my brother Thomas, complaining of
our long silence. We found, too, that Mr. James&#8217;
long letter, containing an account of our route&mdash;arrival
in Oregon&mdash;our having made a claim on
the Clackamas, with description of it&mdash;and all
our progress up to February last, had been received.
So here begins the next chapter. About
the middle of March we removed into our new
log house; here we found everything necessary
to make a homestead comfortable and even delightful&mdash;a
beautiful building spot on a pleasant
knoll of considerable extent&mdash;a clear brook running
along within a few yards of our door; and
surrounded by the grandest mountain scenery&mdash;and
more than that, decidedly healthy. Within<span class="pagenum">[Pg 468]</span>
walking distance of Oregon City and Milwaukee,
and eight miles from Portland. With all these
advantages the boys could not reconcile themselves
to it on account of the great lack of grass
which prevails for twenty miles &#8217;round.</p>

<p>Brush of all description, Hazel, Raspberry,
Salal, Rose, Willow and Fern grow to a most
gigantic size. And in February what appeared
to us and others&mdash;a kind of grass&mdash;sprang up
quickly over the ground and mountain side; nor
was it &#8217;till May, when it blossomed out, that we
discovered what we hoped would be nourishment
for our cattle, was nothing more than the grass
Iris, and fully accounted for the straying of our
cattle and the constant hunt that was kept up by
our neighbors and selves after cattle and horses.</p>

<p>In fact we soon found that this was no place
for cattle until it had been subdued and got into
cultivation. To make the matter worse we were
every now and then in the receipt of messages
and accounts from our friends and acquaintances
who were located, some in Umpqua, some in the
Willamette Valley, some at Puget Sound. Those
from Umpqua sent us word that there was grass
enough all winter, on one claim for a thousand
head of cattle. Mr. Lucas in the Callipooiah
Mountains at the head of the Willamette, sent
us pressing invitations to come up and settle by
him, where he had grass as high as his knees in
February. In the Willamette the first rate places
were all taken up. Samuel and Billy joined in<span class="pagenum">[Pg 469]</span>
begging their father to make a tour north or
south to see some of these desirable places.
Finally he was induced, though rather reluctantly
(so well he liked our pleasant home and so
confident was he of raising grass and grain) to
visit one or the other after harvest. We finished
our harvest in July and in August Mr. J., accompanied
by Billy, set off on a journey of exploration
to the north. The land route lay along
the north bank of the Columbia for sixty miles
to the mouth of the Cowlitz, then thirty miles
up that river over Indian trails, all but impassable.
This brought them into the beautiful
prairies of Puget Sound, sixty or seventy miles
through which brought them to that branch of
the Pacific. They returned after an absence of
between three and four weeks. So well were
Mr. James and Billy pleased with the country
that they made no delay on their return in selling
out their improvements which they had an opportunity
of doing immediately. We had milked
but two cows during the summer, but even with
the poor feed we had, I had kept the family in
butter and sold $20 worth, but then I had fifty
cents and five shillings per pound. As to my
poultry, I obtained with some difficulty the favor
of a pullet and a rooster for $2.00. In March I
added another hen to my stock, and so rapidly
did they increase, that in September I had, small
and big, eighty. After keeping six pullets and
a rooster for myself, I made $25.00 off the rest,<span class="pagenum">[Pg 470]</span>
so you may judge by a little what much will do
in Oregon.</p>

<p>Well, it is time for me to take you on board
the Batteaux, as I wish you all had been on the
16th of September, when we set sail down the
Willamette from Milwaukee. After two days
we entered the Columbia, one of the noblest of
rivers. After three days, with a head wind all
the time, we entered the mouth of the Cowlitz, a
beautiful stream, but so swift that none but Indians
can navigate it. We had to hire five Indians
for $50.00 to take us up. Four days
brought us to what is called the upper landing
of the Cowlitz. Here ended our river travel&mdash;by
far the most pleasant journey I ever made.
There we met Samuel and Billy who with Tom
had taken the cattle by the trail. We halted at
a Mr. Jackson&#8217;s, where we stopped for a fortnight,
while Mr. J. and the boys journeyed away
in search of adventures and a claim.</p>

<p>On the banks of the Chehalis, 30 miles north
of where we stopped and 30 miles south of the
Sound, they found a claim satisfactory in every
respect to all parties, and what was not a little,
we found a cabin a great deal better than the one
we found last winter.</p>

<p>The Indians told us that <i>tennes</i> (white)
Jack, who <i>momicked</i> (worked) it had <i>clatawawed</i>
(traveled or went) to California in quest of
<i>chicamun</i> (metal) and had never <i>chacooed</i>
(come back), so we entered on <i>tennes</i> Jack&#8217;s<span class="pagenum">[Pg 471]</span>
labours. As a farm and location, this certainly
exceeds our most sanguine expectations. I often
thought last year that we had bettered our conditions
from what they were in Wisconsin, and
now I think we have improved ours ten times
beyond what we then were.</p>

<p>Our claim is along the banks of the Chehalis,
a navigable river which empties into the Pacific
at Grays Harbor, about 70 miles below us. A
settlement is just commenced at the mouth of
the river and a sawmill is erected 10 miles below
us, or rather is building. These are all the
settlements on the river below us, and our nearest
neighbor above us is 6 miles up. A prairie
of 10 miles long and varying in width from 2 to 4
miles stretched away to the north of us, watered
with a beautiful stream of water and covered
with grass at this time as green as in May.</p>

<p>A stream of water flows within a few yards
of our house, so full of salmon that Tom and
Johnny could with ease catch a barrel in an hour;
they are from 20 to 30 lbs. in a fish. Besides
which we have a small fish here very much resembling
a pilchard.</p>

<p>We are blessed with the most beautiful
springs of water, one of which will be enclosed
in our door yard. As far as I can learn there
are in the thickest settled parts of this portion
of Oregon, about one family in a township&mdash;many
towns are not so thickly settled. We are
the only inhabitants of this great prairie except<span class="pagenum">[Pg 472]</span>
a few Indians who have a fishing station about
a mile from us. These are on very friendly terms
with us, supplying us with venison, wild fowl
and mats at a very reasonable price, as we are
the only customers and we in return letting them
have what <i>sappalille</i> (flour) and molasses we
can at a reasonable price, which they are always
willing to pay. Soap is another article I am
glad to see in request among them. And it affords
them no little amusement to look at the
plates of the Encyclopedia. But I fear it will
be long before they will be brought to <i>momick</i> the
<i>illahe</i> (earth). They are the finest and stoutest
set of Indians we have seen.</p>

<p>We converse with them by means of a jargon
composed of English, French and Chinook, and
which the Indians speak fluently, and we are
getting to <i>waw-waw</i> (speak) pretty well. My
children, I am thankful to say, look better than
I ever saw them in America; they have not
had the least symptoms of any of the diseases
that they were so much afflicted with in Wisconsin.
And now, my dear Elizabeth, if wishing
would bring you here, you should soon be
here in what appears to me to be one of the
most delightful portions of the globe. But then,
ever since I have been in America I have regarded
a mild climate as a &#8220;pearl of great price&#8221;
in temporal things and felt willing to pay for
it accordingly and I have not had the least reason
to think I have valued it too high. Many<span class="pagenum">[Pg 473]</span>
and many a year has passed since I have enjoyed
life as I have since I have been in Oregon.</p>

<p>I should have told you that the Chehalis is
one of the most beautiful rivers in Oregon. Our
claim stretches a mile along the north bank of
it. It flows through quite an elevated part of
the country. Our house, though within a few
rods of the river, has one of the finest views in
Oregon, the prairie stretching away to the north
like a fine lawn, skirted on each side by oak and
maple, at this time in all the brilliant hues of
Autumn; behind, on gently rising hills, forests
of fir and cedar of most gigantic height and size;
farther still to the northeast rises the ever snow-clad
mountains of Rainier and St. Helens, on
the opposite side to the southwest of the coast
range, so near that we can see the trees on them.
So magnificent are those immense snow mountains
that none but those who have seen them can
form any idea of it.</p>

<p>This prairie takes its name from a remarkable
mound about a mile from our house; it
stands in about 25 acres and is 100 feet high,
with a pure spring half way up. The rest of
the prairie is almost level without a spring except
in the margin. The soil of the mound, as well
as some of the margin, has just enough clay to
make it a rich and excellent soil; the rest of the
prairie is deficient in clay; it has a rich black
mould overlaying two feet deep, resting on substratum
of sand and gravel, which in some places<span class="pagenum">[Pg 474]</span>
is so mixed with the soil as to give it the name
of a gravelly prairie. You might have the choice
of fifty such prairies as this and some better
on this river. Farmers were never better paid
in the world, even my little dairy of two cows
has for the month past turned me in, at least I
have sold butter to the amount of two and a half
bushels of wheat a day at Wisconsin prices of
30 cents, and have by me 26 pounds for which I
shall have at least 60 cents or $1.00 per pound.
I now milk three cows; we have four; and Mr.
James means to add two more and a few sheep.
Mr. J. sold the worst yoke of cattle he had for
$160.00. Cows are worth from $50.00 to $100.00;
sheep are from $5.00 to $9.00; chickens, 60 cents
to $1.00 each; eggs, 50 cents per dozen; dry goods
and groceries just the same as in the states; wheat
$3.00 per bushel. We left our wheat on the
Clackamas to be threshed. They, Samuel and
Billy, are now preparing to put in ten acres of
fall wheat, potatoes are $2.00 per bushel. Indians
easy to hire, both men and women, at reasonable
wages. Extensive coal mines of excellent
quality have been discovered within 15 miles
of this place. But all these things are secondary
in my estimation compared with the climate,
which is allowed by all English to be superior to
their native clime.</p>

<p>It makes me very sad to think how we are
separated as a family, never to meet again (at
least in all probability) under one roof. O, that<span class="pagenum">[Pg 475]</span>
we may all meet at least at the right hand of
God, let this be our sole concern and our path
will be made plain in temporals.</p>

<p>You have the advantage of us in schools,
churches and society, but I feel quite patient
to wait the arrival of those blessings in addition
to those we enjoy. This letter will be accompanied
by a paper to Mr. McNaves, &#8220;<i>The Columbian</i>,&#8221;
published at Olympia, Puget Sound.
Mr. James has just written an article for it, entitled
the &#8220;Rainy Season.&#8221; I wonder how Amy
and Edward are getting on; how I wish they
were here. Do you think they will ever come
over? Should any of you (of course I include
any old friends and acquaintances at Caledonia)
determine on removing to this part, the instructions
in my husband&#8217;s letter are the best we can
give.</p>

<p>There has been great suffering on the road
this year. We have seen a great many families
who came through in a very fair manner, some
of them without even the loss of a single head
of cattle; these were among the first trains;
among the latter the loss of cattle and lives was
awful. Some horrid murders were committed
on the road, for which the murderers were tried
and shot or hung on the spot. The papers say
there will be fifteen thousand added to the population
of Oregon by this year&#8217;s emigration. It
is in contemplation to open a road through from
Grand Ronde on to Puget Sound, which will<span class="pagenum">[Pg 476]</span>
shorten the distance at least 300 miles and out of
the very worst of the road. Samuel and Billy
are determined to come to meet you on the new
route with Jack and Dandy, and more if wanted.
Now we are settled in earnest you shall hear from
us oftener and hope we shall the same from you.
Give my kindest and best love to Mother. One
old lady, about her age, crossed the plains when
we did; she was alive and well when we left the
other side of the Columbia.</p>

<p>I must introduce to you an old acquaintance&mdash;the
Rooks&mdash;caw! caw! caw! all around us. We
have a rookery on our farm. It is now the 28th
of Nov., a fortnight since I wrote the above, in
hopes that it would be on its passage to Wisconsin
ere this, but was disappointed of sending
to the postoffice. Weather warm and sunshiny
as May, two or three white frosts that vanished
with the rising of the sun are all we have had,
not the slightest prospect of sleighing nearer
than the slopes of Mt. Rainier.</p>

<p>I have just asked all hands for the dark
side of Oregon, not one could mention anything
worth calling such. Mr. J. says the shades are
so light as to be invisible. The grey squirrel on
the south of the Columbia was the most formidable
enemy to the farmer; more of that when I
write next.</p>

<p>My kindest love to all the dear children; how
I long to see them all again, particularly Anna;
O, that she may be a very good girl. Richard<span class="pagenum">[Pg 477]</span>
and Allan often talk of writing to Avis and
Lydia. How are Mr. and Mrs. Welch and family?
How gladly would I welcome them to my
humble cabin. I cannot help thinking, too, that
Mrs. W. and I could enjoy ourselves here on
the green sward and in looking at the beautiful
evergreen shrubs and plants on the banks of the
Chehalis, though we might be overtaken by a
mild sprinkling. A canoe on the waters of that
beautiful stream would help to compensate for
the loss of a sleigh on the snows of Wisconsin,
particularly when it can be enjoyed at the same
season of the year. But I suppose I must look
upon all this as a Utopian dream, as I expect
few if any of you would barter your comfortable
house for a log cabin; well, it is my home, and
I hope I have not given you an exaggerated description
of it. I wished my husband to write a
more particular description of the soil and its
productions than I could give, but he was in no
writing mood. He says the prairies as far as
he has seen are not equal to Iowa or Illinois, but
for climate and health he thinks Oregon equals
if not surpasses most parts of the world.</p>

<hr style="width: 45%;" />

<p>Well, I must bid you good-bye, with kind
regards to Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, with all
my other friends in Yorkville, Mr. Moyle and
Susan, with all my friends and acquaintances in
Caledonia. I will write again, all&#8217;s well, about
Christmas, and hope you will attend to the same<span class="pagenum">[Pg 478]</span>
rate and write once in a month. Farewell my
dear sister. Yours in true affection,</p>

<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">A. M. James.</span></p>

<p>P. S.&mdash;If Jane and Dick are married, I will
risk saying that the best thing they can do is to
come here. All the children send their love to
you all. I should be thankful for a few flower
seeds.</p>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page479" name="page479">[Pg 479]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI<br />

<span class="smaller">SOME PIONEERS OF PORT TOWNSEND.</span></h2>

<p>In Port Townsend and Seattle papers of
1902 appeared the following items of history
pertaining to settlers of Port Townsend:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Port Townsend, Feb. 15, 1902.&mdash;On Friday,
February 21, there is to be held in Port
Townsend a reunion of old settlers to celebrate
the fiftieth anniversary of the landing at this
place of some of the first white families to settle
on Puget Sound north of the little town of
Steilacoom.</p>

<p>&#8220;Much interest is being manifested in the
coming celebration among the old-timers on
Puget Sound, many of whom have already responded
to invitations that have been sent them.
Most of these letters contain interesting anecdotes
or references touching the past. One of
them is from Judge E. D. Warbass, of San Juan
county, who writes from &#8216;Idlewild,&#8217; his country
home, near Friday Harbor, under date of February
1. In his letter to J. A. Kuhn, whom he addresses
as &#8216;My Dear Ankutty Tillikum,&#8217; he says:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;This is my birthday, born in A. D. 1825.
Please figure up the time for yourself. I have
just finished my breakfast and chores, and will
get this letter off on the 9 o&#8217;clock mail. I am
sincerely obliged for the honor of being invited<span class="pagenum">[Pg 480]</span>
to come to the Port Townsend celebration and
to prepare and read some reminiscences of my
experiences during all these years. I hope to be
able to do so, and will, if I can, but you know
I am no longer the same rollicking Ed, but quite
an old man. However, I am willing to contribute
my mite towards making your celebration a success,
and weather and health permitting, will be
there. Delate mika siam.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;A. A. Plummer, Sr., and Henry Bacheller
came to Port Townsend by sailing vessel from
San Francisco, in the fall of 1851, and remained
here during the winter. A few days after they
arrived here, L. B. Hastings and F. W. Pettygrove
came in overland from Portland, carrying
their blankets on their backs. They soon decided
to return to Portland and bring their families
over. Mr. Hastings arranged with Plummer and
Bacheller to build a cabin for him by the time
he returned.</p>

<p>&#8220;He and Pettygrove went back to Portland,
and soon afterward Mr. Hastings bought the
schooner Mary Taylor. He made up a party of
congenial people, and on February 9, 1852, the
Mary Taylor sailed from the Columbia river
with the following named persons, and their families,
on board: L. B. Hastings, F. W. Pettygrove,
Benjamin Ross, David Shelton, Thomas
Tallentyre and Smith Hayes. The last named
had no family.</p>

<p>&#8220;On February 19 the schooner passed in by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page481" name="page481">[Pg 481]</a></span>
Cape Flattery, and on the afternoon of the 20th
came upon the Hudson Bay settlement on Vancouver
Island, at Victoria. Present survivors of
the trip, who were then children, recall how their
fathers lifted them up to their shoulders and
pointed out the little settlement, telling them at
the same time that that country belonged to
England, and of their own purpose of crossing
over to the American side and there establishing
a home for themselves. That night the
schooner dropped anchor in Port Townsend bay.</p>

<p>&#8220;Early next morning&mdash;February 21&mdash;the
schooner was boarded by Quincy A. Brooks,
deputy collector and inspector of customs. Mr.
Brooks had arrived here only a few hours ahead
of the Mary Taylor, coming from Olympia and
bringing with him the following customs inspectors:
A. M. Poe, H. C. Wilson and A. B. Moses.
These men had been sent here by the collector
of customs to investigate stories of smuggling
being carried on between the Hudson Bay Company
and Indians on the Sound. The customs
officials were camped on the beach. With them
were B. J. Madison and William Wilton, the
former of whom later settled here. A. A. Plummer
and Henry Bacheller were also camped on
the beach here at the same time, having been
here since their arrival from San Francisco in
the preceding fall.</p>

<p><a id="XVIII" name="XVIII"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/opp481.png" width="500" height="294" alt="" title="SHIP &#39;BELLE ISLE&#39;; LOADING COAL, 1876" />
<span class="caption">SHIP &#8220;BELLE ISLE&#8221; LOADING COAL, 1876</span>
</div>

<p>&#8220;Early in the forenoon of February 21 all
on board the schooner Mary Taylor were land<span class="pagenum">[Pg 482]</span>ed
on the beach and immediately began the work
of carving out homes for themselves in what was
then a wilderness thickly inhabited by Indians.
Mr. Hastings found his cabin ready for occupancy,
all but the roof, which had not been put
on. A temporary roof was constructed and the
family moved in. That night twelve inches
of snow fell, it being the first snow that had
fallen here during the entire winter. Mr. Hastings&#8217;
schooner afterward made several trips between
the Columbia river and the Sound, bringing
additional families here.</p>

<p>&#8220;The present survivors of the Mary Taylor&#8217;s
passengers are the following: L. W. D. Shelton
and his sister, Mary, Oregon C. Hastings, Frank
W. Hastings, Maria Hastings Littlefield, Benj.
S. Pettygrove and Sophia Pettygrove McIntyre.
All but Mr. Shelton and his sister and Oregon
C. Hastings are residents of Port Townsend.</p>

<p>&#8220;Oregon C. Hastings was born in Illinois in
1845, and crossed the plains in 1849 with his
parents. He is living in Victoria.</p>

<p>&#8220;Benjamin S. Pettygrove is a native of Portland,
Oregon, where he was born on September
30, 1846. He was the first white male child born
in Portland.</p>

<p>&#8220;Frank W. Hastings was born in Portland
on November 16, 1848.</p>

<p>&#8220;Sophia Pettygrove was born in Portland on
November 17, 1848. She was married on her
17th birthday to Captain James McIntyre, who<span class="pagenum">[Pg 483]</span>
lost his life a few weeks ago in the wreck of
the steamship Bristol in Alaskan waters.</p>

<p>&#8220;Judge J. A. Kuhn is the moving spirit in
the matter of these pioneers&#8217; reunions and in
the organization of Native Sons and Native
Daughters lodges. He made a promise to G.
Morris Haller of Seattle, as far back as 1877,
he says, that he would take up the organizations
referred to, in the interest of history and research.
The matter remained dormant, however,
till the year 1893, when, on March 2, of that year,
he instituted in Port Townsend, Jefferson Camp
No. 1, Native Sons of Washington, with 12 members
present. The camp now has 118 members.
On July 3, 1895, he instituted in Port Townsend,
Lucinda Hastings Parlor No. 1, Native Daughters
of Washington. There are now in the state
nine camps of Native Sons and four parlors of
Native Daughters.</p>

<p>&#8220;A. A. Plummer, Sr., now deceased, was one
of the fathers of Port Townsend and was considered
quite a remarkable man. He was born
in the state of Maine, March 3, 1822, and was a
veteran of the Mexican war. He fought under
Col. Stevens in that conflict and at its close went
to California, going from there to Portland by
sailing vessel in 1850.</p>

<p>&#8220;Major Quincy A. Brooks was the second
deputy collector of customs ever sworn into the
service in the Puget Sound district. In January,
1852, he succeeded Elwood Evans as deputy col<span class="pagenum">[Pg 484]</span>lector
for the district. The collector of customs
was then Simpson P. Moses, of Cincinnati, Ohio,
and the custom house was located at Olympia.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>At the reunion on the 21st of February,
1902, many things were brought to light.</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;Among the many stories of early days and
reminiscences recalled at the pioneers&#8217; gathering
one of the most interesting was Mr. Shelton&#8217;s
story of the trip of the Mary Taylor from Portland
to Port Townsend. Mr. Shelton had committed
his reminiscences to manuscript as follows:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Fifty years ago, some time about the first
of February, the little 75-ton schooner Mary
Taylor left Portland, Ore., for Puget Sound,
having on board the families of L. B. Hastings,
F. W. Pettygrove, David Shelton, Thomas Tallentyre,
Benjamin Ross and Smith Hayes. Mr.
Hayes had no family here, but I think he had a
family in the East. Mr. Ross had one son, about
20 years old.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Our little craft was navigated by Captain
Hutchinson and a crew of four or five men. The
families were all old acquaintances. Those of
Hastings, Ross and Shelton crossed the plains
together in 1847, and concluded to cast their fortunes
together again in their last great move,
which was to this country.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;We lay at Astoria several days, waiting for
a favorable opportunity to cross the bar. We
made three trials before we ventured out to sea<span class="pagenum">[Pg 485]</span>
and were three or four days getting up to Cape
Flattery, where we lay quite a while in a calm.
We found here that we were in soundings, and
some of the party commenced fishing, but all
they could catch were dog fish, which we tried
to eat, but we found that they were not the kind
of fish that we cared about.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;Our first sight of Indians in this part of
the country was off Neah Bay. We were drifting
near Waadah Island, when canoes came swarming
out of their village in the bay. We had heard
ugly stories about this tribe, and prepared for
them by stacking our arms around the masts, to
be handy in case of need. They were clamorous
to come on board, but we thought that they were
as well off in their canoes as they would be anywhere
else. Some of our party sauntered along
the deck with guns in their hands, in view of the
Indians.</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;The Indians then wanted to trade fish for
tobacco and trinkets. A few pieces of tobacco
were thrown into their canoes and then they
commenced throwing fish aboard, and such fish
for a landsman to look at! There were bull-heads,
rock-cod, kelp-fish, mackerel, fish as flat
as your hand, and skates, and other monstrosities,
the likes of which the most of our party had
never seen before, and when our old cook dished
them up for us at dinner we found that they were
fine and delicious. There is where we made the
acquaintance of sea-bass and rock-cod, and we<span class="pagenum">[Pg 486]</span>
have cultivated their acquaintance ever since.
There were also mussels and clams among the
lot, which we found to be very good. We were
surrounded by another lot of Indians near Clallam
Bay, with about the same performances and
with the same results as at Neah Bay.&#8217;</p>

<p>&#8220;Another incident that I recall happened
near Dungeness spit. A couple of canoes filled
with Indians came alongside and as there was
only a few of them they were allowed to come
on board. The tyee of the crowd introduced
himself as Lord Jim. He wore a plug hat, a
swallowtailed coat, a shirt and an air of immense
importance. I suppose he had secured
his outfit as a &#8216;cultus potlatch&#8217; from persons he
had met. He had evidently met several white
people in his time, as he had a number of testimonials
as to his character as a good Indian. I
remember of hearing one of his testimonials read
and it impressed me as having come from one
who had studied the Indian character to some
effect. It read something like this:</p>

<p>&#8220;&#8216;To whom it may concern: This will introduce
Lord Jim, a noted Indian of this part of
the country. Look out for him or he will steal
the buttons off your coat.&#8217; A further acquaintance
with Lord Jim seemed to inspire the belief
that the confidence of the writer was not misplaced.</p>

<p>&#8220;Shortly after we left Lord Jim we sailed
along Protection Island, one of the beauty spots<span class="pagenum">[Pg 487]</span>
of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Somewhere along
here another thing happened&mdash;trivial in its nature&mdash;the
memory of which has stayed with me
all these years. Mr. Pettygrove was walking the
deck in a meditative manner, when he happened
to feel that he needed a cigar. He called to his
son, Ben, about six years old, and told him to
bring him some cigars. Ben wanted to know
how many he should get. His father told him
to get as many as he had fingers on both hands.
Ben, proud of his commission, darted away and
soon returned with eight cigars. His father
looked at them a moment and said: &#8216;How is
this; you have only brought me eight cigars?&#8217;
&#8216;Well,&#8217; said Ben, &#8216;that is all the fingers I have.&#8217;
&#8216;No,&#8217; said his father, &#8216;you have ten on both your
hands.&#8217; &#8216;Why, no I haven&#8217;t,&#8217; said Ben, &#8216;two of
them are thumbs,&#8217; and I guess Ben was right.</p>

<p>&#8220;The next morning, after passing Dungeness
Spit, we found our vessel anchored abreast
of what is now the business part of Port Townsend,
which was then a large Indian village.
That was February 21, 1852, fifty years ago today.
How it stirs the blood and quickens the
memory to look back over those eventful years&mdash;eventful
years for our state, our Pacific Coast
and our entire country&mdash;and these years have
been equally eventful for the little band that
landed here that day so full of hope and energy.</p>

<p>&#8220;Our fathers and mothers are all gone to
their well-earned rest and reward. Of the thir<span class="pagenum">[Pg 488]</span>teen
children that were with them at that time
nine are still living, and I am proud of the fact
that they are all respectable citizens of the community
in which they live. They have seen all
the history of this part of the country that
amounts to much and in their humble way have
helped to make it. They have helped conquer
the wilderness and the savages and have done
their share in laying the foundation of what will
be one of the greatest states of our Union. Their
fathers were men of honesty and more than ordinary
force of character, as their deeds and labors
in behalf of their country and families show,
and the mothers of blessed memory&mdash;their children
never realized the power for good they were
in this world until they were grown and had families
of their own, but they know it now. They
know now how they encouraged their husbands
when dark days came; how they cheerfully
shared the trials and hardships incident to those
early pioneer days, and when brighter fortunes
came they exercised the same helpful guiding influence
in their well ordered, comfortable homes
that they did in their first log cabins in the wilderness.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page489" name="page489">[Pg 489]</a></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br />

<span class="smaller">PERSONNEL OF THE PIONEER ARMY.</span></h2>

<p>A long roll of honor I might call of the brave
men and women who dared and strove in the
wild Northwest of the long ago. If I speak of
representative pioneers, those unnamed might
be equally typical of the bold army of &#8220;forest-felling
kings,&#8221; &#8220;forest-fallers&#8221; as well as
&#8220;fighters,&#8221; like those Northland men of old.</p>

<p>There are the names of Denny, Yesler, Phillips,
Terry, Low, Boren, Butler, Bell, Mercer,
Maple, Van Asselt, Horton, Hanford, McConaha,
Smith, Maynard, Frye, Blaine and others who
felled the forest and laid foundations at and near
Seattle; Briggs, Hastings, Van Bokkelin, Hammond,
Pettygrove with others founded Port
Townsend, while Lansdale, Crockett, Alexander,
Cranney, Kellogg, Hancock, Izett, Busby, Ebey
and Coupe, led the van for Whidby Island; Eldridge
and Roeder at Bellingham Bay; toward
the head of navigation, McAllister, Bush, Simmons,
Packwood, Chambers, Shelton, are a few
of those who blazed the way.</p>

<p>The blows of the sturdy forest-felling kings
rang out from many a favored spot on the shores
of the great Inland Sea, cheerful signals for the
thousands to come after them.</p>

<p><a id="XIX" name="XIX"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;">
<img src="images/opp489.jpg" width="359" height="600" alt="" title="WILLIAM R. BOREN  &nbsp;&nbsp; REV. D. E. BLAINE &nbsp;&nbsp;  CARSON D. BOREN" />
<span class="caption">REV. D. E. BLAINE<br />WILLIAM R. BOREN&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; CARSON D. BOREN</span>
</div>

<p>These, and the long list of the Here Un<span class="pagenum">[Pg 490]</span>named,
waged the warfare of beginnings, which
required such large courage, independence, persistence,
faith and uncompromising toil, as the
velvet-shod aftercomers can scarcely conceive of.</p>

<p>Simultaneously with the early subjugation
of the country, the political, educational, commercial
and social initiatory movements were
made of whose present development the people
of Puget Sound may well be proud.</p>

<p>Since the organization of the Washington
Pioneer Association in October, 1883, the old
pioneers and their children have met year by
year in the lavish month of June to recount their
adventures, toils and privations, and enjoy the
sympathy begotten of similar experiences, in the
midst of modern ease and plenty.</p>

<p>A concourse of this kind in Seattle evoked
the following words of appreciation:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;No organization, no matter what its nature
might be, could afford the people of Seattle more
gratification by holding its assemblage in their
midst than is afforded them by the action of the
Pioneers&#8217; Association of Washington Territory
in holding its annual gathering in this city. Unlike
conventions and gatherings in which only
a portion of the community is interested, the
meeting of the pioneers is interesting to all. To
some, of course, the event is of more importance
than to others, but all have an interest in the
Pioneers&#8217; Association, all have a pride in the
achievement of its members, and all can feel that<span class="pagenum">[Pg 491]</span>
they are the beneficiaries of the struggle and
hardships of which the pioneers tell.</p>

<p>&#8220;The reminiscences of the pioneers from
the history of the first life breathings of our commonwealth&mdash;of
a commonwealth which, though
in its infancy, is grand indeed, and which gives
promise of attaining greatness in the full maturity
of its powers of which those who laid the
foundations of the state scarcely dreamed. The
pioneers are the fathers of the commonwealth;
their struggles and their hardships were the
struggles and the hardships of a state coming
into being. They cleared the forests, not for
themselves alone, but for posterity and for all
time. As they subdued a wild and rugged land
and prepared it to sustain and support its share
of the people of the earth, each blow of their ax
was a blow destined to resound through all time,
each furrow turned by their ploughshares that
the earth might yield again and again to their
children&#8217;s children so long as man shall inhabit
the earth. No stroke of work done in the progress
of that great labor was done in vain. None
of the mighty energy was lost. Each tree that
fell, fell never to rise. Each nail driven in a
settler&#8217;s hut was a nail helping to bind together
the fabric of the community. Each day&#8217;s labor
was given to posterity more surely than if it
had been sold for gold to be buried in the earth
and brought forth by delighted searchers centuries
hence.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 492]</span>&#8220;It is for this that we honor the pioneers.
It is for this that we are proud and happy to
have them meet among us. We are their heirs.
Our inheritance is the fruit of their labor, the
reward of their fortitude, the recompense of
their hardships. The home of today, the center
of comfort and contentment, the very soul of the
state, could not have been but for the log cabins
of forty years ago. The imposing edifice of
learning, the complete system of education, could
not have been but for the crude school house of
the past. The churches and religious institutions
of today are the result of the untiring and unselfish
labors of the itinerant preacher who wandered
back and forth, now painfully picking his
way through the forest, now threading with his
frail canoe the silver streams, now gliding over
the calm waters of the Sound, ever laying broad
and deep the true foundations of the grand civilization
that was to be. The flourishing cities, the
steel rails that bind us to the world, the stately
steamers that, behemoth-like, journey to and fro
in our waters,&mdash;these things could not be but for
the rude straggling hamlets, the bridle path cut
with infinite labor through the most impenetrable
of forests, and the canoe which darted arrow-like
through gloomy passages, over bright bays
and up laughing waters.</p>

<p>&#8220;All honor to the pioneers&mdash;all honor and
welcome. We say it who are their heirs, we
whose homes are on the land which they re<span class="pagenum">[Pg 493]</span>claimed
from the forests, we who till the fields
that they first tilled, we whose pride and glory is
the grand land-locked sea on which they gazed
delighted so many years ago. Welcome to them,
and may they come together again and again as
the years pass away. When their eyes are dim
with age and their hair is as white as the snows
that cover the mountains they love, may they
still see the land which they created the home
of a great, proud people, a people loving the land
they love, a people honoring and obeying the laws
that they have honored and obeyed so long, a
people honoring, glorying in, the flag which they
bore over treeless plains, over lofty mountains,
over raging torrents, through suffering and
danger, always proudly, always confidently, always
hopefully, until they planted it by the shore
of the Western sea in the most beautiful of all
lands. May each old settler, as he journeys year
by year toward the shoreless sea, over whose
waters he must journey away, feel that the flag
which he carried so far and so bravely will wave
forever in the soft southwestern breeze, which
kisses his furrowed brow and toys with his silvery
hair. May he feel, too, that the love of the
people is with him, that they watch him, lovingly,
tenderly, as he journeys down the pathway, and
the story of his deeds is graven forever on their
minds, and love and honor forever on their
hearts.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>And so do I, a descendent of a long line of
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 494]</span>pioneers in America, reiterate, &#8220;Honor the Pioneers.&#8221;</p>

<p><a id="XX" name="XX"></a></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;">
<img src="images/opp493.jpg" width="399" height="600" alt="" title="MRS. LYDIA D. LOW" />
<span class="caption">MRS. LYDIA D. LOW</span>
</div>

<p class="title">LYDIA C. LOW.</p>

<p>Mrs. Low was one of the party that landed
at Alki, Nov. 13th, 1851, having crossed the
plains with her husband and children.</p>

<p>I have heard her tell of seeing my father,
D. T. Denny, the lone white occupant of Alki,
as she stepped ashore from the boat that carried
the passengers from the schooner.</p>

<p>The Lows did not make a permanent settlement
there, but moved to a farm back of
Olympia, thence to Sonoma, Cal., and back
again to Puget Sound, where they made their
home at Snohomish for many years. Mrs. Low
was the mother of a large family of nine children,
who shared her pioneer life. Some died
in childhood, accidents befell others, a part were
more fortunate, yet she seemed in old age serene,
courageous, undaunted as ever, faithful and
true, lovely and beloved.</p>

<p>She passed from earth away on Dec. 11th,
1901, her husband, John D. Low, having preceded
her a number of years before.</p>

<p class="title">OTHER PIONEERS.</p>

<p>Both Mr. and Mrs. Izett of Whidby Island
are pioneers of note. Mrs. Izett crossed the
plains in 1847, and in 1852 came to the Sound
on a visit, at the same time Mr. Izett happened
to arrive. He persuaded her not to return to<span class="pagenum">[Pg 495]</span>
her old home. Mr. Izett in 1850 went to India
from England by way of Cape Horn, and two
years later came to Seattle. For four years he
secured spars for the British government at Utsalady.
In 1859 he built the first boat of any
size to be constructed on Puget Sound. This
was a 100-ton schooner, and she was built at
Oak Harbor. In 1862 he framed two of the first
Columbia river steamers. Mrs. Izett is a sister
of Mrs. F. A. Chenoweth, whose husband was a
judge, with four associates, of the first Washington
territorial tribunal. Another of the members
was Judge McFadden. Mr. Izett knew well
Gen. Isaac I. Stevens, the first governor of the
territory. He came to Washington in the fall
of 1859, and issued his first proclamation as governor
the following February. The legislature
met soon after.</p>

<p class="title">J. W. MAPLE.</p>

<p>John Wesley Maple was not only one of
the oldest settlers of this (King) county, but he
was one of its most prominent men. He figured
to some extent in political life, but during the
last few years had retired to the homestead by
the Duwamish, where his father had settled after
crossing the plains nearly fifty years ago, and
where he himself met his death yesterday. (In
March of 1902.)</p>

<p>He was born in Guernsey county, Ohio, January
1, 1840. As a little boy he spent his child<span class="pagenum">[Pg 496]</span>hood
days near the farm of the McKinleys, and
often during his later years he was fond of relating
apple stealing expeditions in which he
indulged as a little boy, and for which the father
of the late President McKinley often chastised
him. From Ohio his father, Jacob Maple, moved
to Keokuk, Ia., where he lived near the farm on
which Mayor Humes, of Seattle, was reared.</p>

<p>In 1856, Jacob Maple, the father, and Samuel
Maple, the brother of John W., came to
Puget Sound. In 1862 the rest of the family
followed them. In crossing the plains John W.
Maple was made captain of the four wagon
trains which were united in the expedition. He
guided them to Pendleton, Ore., where they separated.
Thence he came to the Duwamish river,
where his father and brother had settled.</p>

<p>Later Mr. Maple and Samuel Snyder took
up a homestead on Squak slough. A few years
after that Mr. Maple went to Ellensburg. He
finally returned to spend the rest of his life on
the homestead.</p>

<p class="title">HELD MANY OFFICES.</p>

<p>In the early days he was several times elected
to county offices. He was at one time supervisor
for the road district extending from Yesler
way to O&#8217;Brien station and to Renton. In
1896 he was elected treasurer of King county on
the Populist ticket. He furnished a bond of
$1,600,000. At the end of his term a shortage<span class="pagenum">[Pg 497]</span>
was found. Every cent of this was finally made
good by him to those who stood on his bond.</p>

<p>In 1897 Mr. Maple received a complimentary
vote on the part of several members of the
state legislature for the office of United States
senator. For this office his neighbors indorsed
him, and August Toellnor, of Van Asselt, was
sent by them to Olympia to see what could be
done to further the candidacy. Since the end of
his term as treasurer Mr. Maple has held no
office, save that of school director in his district.
Only a week ago Mr. Maple announced to his
friends that he had left the Populist party and
had returned to the Republican party, to which
he had belonged prior to the wave of Populism
which swept over the West in the early nineties.</p>

<p>During all of his life he was an ardent student
of literature, and he possessed one of the
finest libraries in the state. He was known as
a strong orator, and was during his younger days
an exhorter in the Methodist Protestant church,
of which he was a member.</p>

<p>Mr. Maple was married twice. His first
wife, who died more than twenty years ago, was
Elizabeth Snyder, a daughter of Samuel Snyder,
one of the oldest residents of the Duwamish
valley. Six children were the fruit of this
union, Charles, Alvin B., Cora, now Mrs. Frank
Patten; Dora, now Mrs. Charles Norwich; Bessie,
now dead, and Clifford J. Maple. His second
wife was Minnie Borella. Three children were<span class="pagenum">[Pg 498]</span>
born to her, Telford C., Lelah and Beulah Maple.</p>

<p>Of his brothers and sisters the following are
living: Mrs. Katherine Van Asselt and Mr. Eli
B. Maple, of this city; Mrs. Jane Cavanaugh, of
California; Mrs. Elvira Jones and Mrs. Ruth
Smith, of Kent, and Aaron Maple, who now
lives on the old Maple homestead in Iowa.</p>

<p class="title">CHARLES PROSCH AND THOMAS PROSCH.</p>

<p>&#8220;The summer in which the gold excitement
broke out in the Colville country, in 1855,&#8221; said
Thomas Prosch, &#8220;several members of a party of
gold hunters from Seattle were massacred by
the Indians in the Yakima Valley while on their
way to the gold fields. The party went through
Snoqualmie Pass in crossing the mountains. The
territorial legislature sent word to Washington
and the government undertook to punish the
guilty tribes by a detachment of troops under
Maj. Haller. This was defeated and war followed
for several years. It was most violent in
King county in 1855 and 1856, and in Eastern
Washington in 1857 and 1858. The principal
incidents in the West were the massacre of the
whites in 1855 and the attack upon Seattle the
following year. In 1857 Col. Steptoe sustained
a memorable defeat on the Eastern side of the
mountains, and the hostilities were terminated
by the complete annihilation of the Indian forces
in the same locality the following year by Col.
Wright. He killed 1,000 horses and hanged<span class="pagenum">[Pg 499]</span>
many of the Indians besides the frightful carnage
of the battlefield.&#8221;</p>

<p>Mr. Prosch and his father, Charles Prosch,
with several other members of his family, arrived
in the state and in Seattle between the years
1849 and 1857. Gen. M. M. Carver, the founder
of Tacoma, who was Mrs. Thomas Prosch&#8217;s
father, came to the territory in 1843 with Dr.
Whitman, who was massacred, with Applegate
and Nesmith.</p>

<p>Time and strength would fail me did I attempt
to obtain and record accounts of many
well known pioneers; I must leave them to other
more capable writers. However, I will briefly
mention some who were prominent during my
childhood.</p>

<p>The Hortons, Dexter Horton and Mrs. Horton,
the latter a stout, rosy-cheeked matron
whose house and garden, particularly the dahlias
growing in the yard, elicited my childish admiration.
I remember how certain little pioneer girls
were made happy by a visit from her, at which
time she fitted them with her own hands some
pretty grey merino dresses trimmed with narrow
black velvet ribbon. Also how one of them
was impressed by the sorrow she could not conceal,
the tears ran down her cheeks as she spoke
of a child she had lost.</p>

<p>One family have never forgotten the Santa
Claus visit to their cottage home, the same being
impersonated by Dexter Horton, who departed<span class="pagenum">[Pg 500]</span>
after leaving some substantial tokens of his good
will.</p>

<p>The pioneer ministers of the Gospel were
among the most fearless of foundation builders.
Reverends Wm. Close, Alderson, Franklin,
Doane, Bagley, Whitworth, Belknap, Greer,
Mann, Atwood, Hyland, Prefontaine, and others;
of Rev. C. Alderson, who often visited my
father and mother, Hon. Allen Weir has this to
say:</p>

<blockquote><p>&#8220;I remember very clearly when, during the
&#8216;sixties,&#8217; Brother Alderson used to visit the
settlement in which my father&#8217;s family lived at
Dungeness, in Clallam county, Washington Territory.
He was then stationed at White River,
twelve miles or more south of Seattle. There
was no Tacoma in those days. To reach Dungeness,
Brother Alderson had to walk over a muddy
road a dozen miles or more to Seattle, then by
the old steamer Eliza Anderson to Port Townsend,
and then depend upon an Indian canoe
twenty-five miles to the old postoffice at Elliot
Cline&#8217;s house. After his arrival it would require
several days to get word passed around among
the neighbors so as to get a preaching announcement
circulated. Sometimes he would preach at
Mr. Cline&#8217;s house, sometimes at Alonzo Davis&#8217;,
and sometimes at my father&#8217;s. He was literally
blazing the trail where now is an highway. The
first announcement of these services in the Dungeness
river bottom was when a bearded, muddy-<span class="pagenum">[Pg 501]</span>booted
old bachelor from Long Prairie stopped
to halloo to father and interrupt log piling and
stump clearing long enough to say: &#8216;H-a-y! Mr.
Weir! The&#8217;s a little red-headed Englishman
goin&#8217; to preach at Cline&#8217;s on Sunday! Better go
an&#8217; git your conschense limbered up.&#8217; Everybody
knew the road to Cline&#8217;s. At each meeting
the audience was limited to the number of settlers
within a dozen miles. All had to attend or
proclaim themselves confirmed heathen. The
preacher, who came literally as the &#8216;Voice of
one crying in the wilderness,&#8217; was manifestly
not greatly experienced at that time in his work&mdash;but
he was intensely earnest, courageous, outspoken,
a faithful messenger; and under his
ministrations many were reminded of their old-time
church privileges &#8216;back in old Mizzoory,&#8217;
in &#8216;Kentuck,&#8217; or in &#8216;Eelinoy,&#8217; or elsewhere.
I remember that to my boyish imagination it
seemed a wonderful amount of &#8216;grit&#8217; was required
to carry on his gospel work. He made
an impression as an honest toiler in the vineyard,
and was accepted at par value for his
manly qualities. He was welcomed to the hospitable
homes of the people. If we could not
always furnish yellow-legged chickens for dinner
we always had a plentiful supply of bear
meat or venison.</p>

<p>&#8220;After Brother Alderson returned to Oregon
I never met him again, except at an annual conference
in Albany (in 1876, I think it was), but<span class="pagenum">[Pg 502]</span>
I always remembered him kindly as a sturdy
soldier of the Cross who improved his opportunities
to administer reproof and exhortation. The
memory is a benediction.&#8221;</p></blockquote>

<p>Of agreeable memory is Mrs. S. D. Libby,
to whom the pioneer women were glad to go for
becoming headgear&mdash;and the hats were very
pretty, too, as well as the wearers, in those days.
Good straw braids were valued and frequently
made over by one who had learned the bleacher&#8217;s
and shaper&#8217;s art in far Illinois.</p>

<p>A little pioneer girl used often to rip the
hats to the end that the braids might be made
to take some new and fashionable form.</p>

<p>&#8220;The beautiful Bonney girls,&#8221; Emmeline,
Sarah and Lucy, afterward well known as Mrs.
Shorey, Mrs. G. Kellogg and Mrs. Geo. Harris,
might each give long and interesting accounts
of early times. Others I think of are the John
Ross family, whose sons and daughters are
among the few native white children of pioneer
families of Seattle (the Ross family were our
nearest neighbors for a long time, and good
neighbors they were, too); the Peter Andrews
family, the Maynards, who were among the
earliest and most prominent settlers; Mrs. Maynard
did many a kindness to the sick; the Samuel
Coombs family, of whom &#8220;Sam Coombs,&#8221; the
patriarch, known to all, is a great lover and admirer
of pioneers; Ray Coombs, his son, the
artist, and Louisa, his daughter, one of the belles<span class="pagenum"><a id="page503" name="page503">[Pg 503]</a></span>
of early times; the L. B. Andrews family; Mr.
Andrews was a friend of Grandfather John
Denny, and himself a pioneer of repute; his fair,
pleasant, blue-eyed daughter was my schoolmate
at the old U., then new; the Hanfords, valued
citizens, now so distinguished and so well known;
Mrs. Hanford&#8217;s account of the stirring events of
early days was recognized and drawn from by
the historian Bancroft in compiling his great
work; the De Lins; the Burnetts, long known
and much esteemed; the Sires family; the Harmons,
Woodins, Campbells, Plummers, Hinds,
Weirs of Dungeness, later of Olympia, of whom
Allen Weir is well known and distinguished; yes,
and Port Gamble, Port Madison, Steilacoom and
Olympia people, what volumes upon volumes
might have been, might be written&mdash;it will take
many a basket to hold the chips to be picked up
after their and our <i>Blazing the Way</i>.</p>

<div class="poem" style="width: 28em;">
<span class="i5">HAIL, AND FAREWELL.</span>
<br /><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Heroic Pioneers!</span>
<span class="i0">Of kings and conquerors fully peers;</span>
<span class="i0">Well may the men of later day</span>
<span class="i0">Proclaim your deeds, crown you with bay;</span>
<span class="i0">Forest-fallers, reigning kings,</span>
<span class="i0">In that far time that memory brings.</span>
<span class="i0">Nor savage beast, nor savage man,</span>
<span class="i0">Majestic forests&#8217; frowning ban,</span>
<span class="i0">Could palsy arms or break the hearts,</span>
<span class="i0">Till wilds gave way to busy marts;</span>
<span class="i0">You served your time and country well,</span>
<span class="pagenum">[Pg 504]</span><span class="i0">Let tuneful voices paeans swell!</span>
<span class="i0">O, steadfast Pioneers!</span>
<span class="i0">Bowed &#8217;neath the snows of many years,</span>
<span class="i0">Your patient courage never fails,</span>
<span class="i0">Your strong true prayers arise,</span>
<span class="i0">E&#8217;en from the heavenly trails</span>
<span class="i0">To &#8220;mansions in the skies.&#8221;</span>
<span class="i0">To noble ones midst daily strife,</span>
<span class="i0">And those who&#8217;ve crossed the plains of life,</span>
<span class="i0">Far past the fiery, setting sun,</span>
<span class="i0">The dead and living loved as one,</span>
<span class="i0">(Tolls often now the passing bell)</span>
<span class="i0">We greeting give and bid farewell.</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O Mother Pioneers!</span>
<span class="i0">We greet you through our smiles and tears;</span>
<span class="i0">You laid foundations deep,</span>
<span class="i0">Climbed oft the sun-beat rocky steep</span>
<span class="i0">Of sorrow&#8217;s mountain wild,</span>
<span class="i0">Descended through the shadowy vales</span>
<span class="i0">Led by the little child.</span>
<span class="i0">Within, without your cabins rude</span>
<span class="i0">As toiling builders well you wrought,</span>
<span class="i0">With busy hands and constant hearts,</span>
<span class="i0">And eager children wisdom taught;</span>
<span class="i0">Long be delayed the passing bell,</span>
<span class="i0">Long be it ere we say &#8220;Farewell!&#8221;</span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Beloved Pioneers!</span>
<span class="i0">Whom glory waits in coming years,</span>
<span class="i0">You planted here with careful hand</span>
<span class="i0">The youngest scion in our land</span>
<span class="i0">Cut from the tree of Liberty;</span>
<span class="i0">To fullest stature it shall grow,</span>
<span class="i0">With fruitful branches bending low,</span>
<span class="i0">Your worth then shall the people know.</span>
<span class="i0">When all your work on earth is done,</span>
<span class="i0">Your marches o&#8217;er and battles won,</span>
<span class="i0">(No more will toll the passing bell)</span>
<span class="i0">They&#8217;ll watch and wait at Heaven&#8217;s gate</span>
<span class="i0">To bid you Hail! and nevermore, Farewell!</span>
</div></div>

<hr style="width: 65%;" />

<p>TRANSCRIBER NOTES:</p>

<p>Punctuation has been normalized.</p>
<p>Archaic and alternate spellings have been retained with the exception of those listed below:</p>
<p>Footnote moved closer to its reference.</p>
<p>page 19: "intenton" changed to "intention" (It is my intention to).</p>
<p>page 19: "desirablity" changed to "desirability" (beauty and general desirability).</p>
<p>page 36: "strivinig" changed to "striving" (impotently striving to stay).</p>
<p>page 49: "Capt" changed to "Cape" (around Cape Flattery and up the Sound).</p>
<p>page 52: "comformation" changed to "conformation" (and the conformation of the leg bones).</p>
<p>page 54: "To" changed to "Too" (Too littlee boat for too muchee big waters).</p>
<p>page 61: "of" changed to "off" (the salmon they got off the Indians).</p>
<p>page 66: "[A]pheasant'" changed to "[A]pheasant's" (bringing some wild [A]pheasant's eggs the men).</p>
<p>page 73: "funiture" changed to "furniture" (the furniture of their cabin).</p>
<p>page 74: "buldings" changed to "buildings" (historic buildings erected and occupied).</p>
<p>page 79: "to" changed to "too"(where my men go, I go too).</p>
<p>page 85 and 263 : "Klikitats" changed to "Klickitats" to match spelling using in other places in the book.</p>
<p>page 86 and 277: "whiskey" changed to "whisky" to match spelling in other places in the book.</p>
<p>page 90: "descrtuction" changed to "destruction" (looked sorrowfully upon the vandal destruction).</p>
<p>page 103: "wth" changed to "with" (Not yet satisfied with the work of execution).</p>
<p>page 114: "exhilirating" changed to "exhilarating" (found to be an exhilarating pastime).</p>
<p>page 119: "prespiration" changed to "perspiration" (and perspiration ooze from every pore).</p>
<p>page 119: "necleus" changed to "nucleus" (to be the nucleus of a great collection).</p>
<p>page 129: "isnt'" changed to "isn't" (Well, it isn't yours).</p>
<p>page 131: "Denny's" changed to "Dennys'" (to and fro in the Dennys' cottage).</p>
<p>page 147: "occured" changed to "occurred" (The first occurred when I was a small child).</p>
<p>page 149: "well-night" changed to "well-nigh" (its head was well-nigh severed from its body).</p>
<p>page 154: "swop" changed to "swap" (so he told the Indian he would swap his girl).</p>
<p>page 156: "Taulatin" changed to "Tualatin" (Then we moved out to the Tualatin Plains).</p>
<p>page 159: "was" changed to "what" (Arriving at what was called)</p>
<p>page 164: "already" changed to "all ready" (We were all ready to start).</p>
<p>page 169: "hasty-constructed" changed to "hastily-constructed" (to cross them in hastily-constructed boats).</p>
<p>page 170: "hardlly" changed to "hardly" (I can hardly imagine how any one could understand).</p>
<p>page 210: "convenince" changed to "convenience" (what is their daily convenience).</p>
<p>page 240: "withour" changed to "without" (and without murmur).</p>
<p>page 253: "culumny" changed to "calumny" (humiliation, calumny, extreme and underserved).</p>
<p>page 254: "reptitions" changed to "repetitions" (hence there appear some repetitions).</p>
<p>page 263: "setlement" changed to "settlement" (the women in the settlement).</p>
<p>page 270: "flower-decekd" changed to "flower-decked" (flower-decked virgin prairie).</p>
<p>page 276: "shore" changed to "short" (A short time before).</p>
<p>page 290: "diging" changed to "digging" (digging out "suwellas").</p>
<p>page 291: "others" changed to "others'" (best of others' conclusions).</p>
<p>page 322: "accidently" changed to "accidentally" (he was accidentally wounded).</p>
<p>page 325: "tims" changed to "times" (few of us here in those early times).</p>
<p>page 357: "obejct" changed to "object" (And man's the object of His constant care).</p>
<p>page 360: "have" added to text (and would, if living, have made).</p>
<p>page 361: "pollysyllabic" changed to "polysyllabic" (polysyllabic language not more like).</p>
<p>page 363: "explantion" changed to "explanation" (an explanation of his mission).</p>
<p>page 366: "rememben" changed to "remember" (but I do not remember any).</p>
<p>page 384: "supose" changed to "suppose" (Don't you suppose I can).</p>
<p>page 390: "rythmic" changed to "rhythmic" (Fills our pulses rhythmic beat).</p>
<p>page 393: "protuded" changed to "protruded" (their feet protruded below).</p>
<p>page 412: "Or." changed to "Ore." for consistency (Columbia county, Ore.).</p>
<p>page 422: "tself" changed to "itself" (and had buried itself in the earth).</p>
<p>page 423: "ecstacy" changed to "ecstasy" (in a mute ecstasy of mellow satisfaction).</p>
<p>page 424: "Atkin" changed to "Atkins" (Dick Atkins).</p>
<p>page 432: "orothodoxy" changed to "orthodoxy" ('my orthodoxy has been a little shaky of late).</p>
<p>page 453: "hundrd" changed to "hundred" (at three hundred and sixteen dollars per acre).</p>
<p>page 454: "foolhardly" changed to "foolhardy" (he was simply foolhardy).</p>
<p>page 455: "finishishing" changed to "finishing" (while the white pin of the finishing).</p>
<p>page 482: "the the" changed to "the" (and the family moved in).</p>
<p>page 488: "childred" changed to "children" (their children never realized).</p>
<p>page 499: "massacreed" changed to "massacred" (who was massacred).</p>








<pre>





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