"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:

"'O fortunate, O happy day,'

The people sing, the people say,

The bride and bridegroom, pioneers,

Crowned now with good and gracious years

Serenely smile upon the scene.

The growing state they helped to found

Unto their praise shall yet redound.

O may they see a green old age,

With every leaf a written page

Of joy and peace from day to day.

In good, new times not far away

May people sing and people say,

'Heaven bless their coming years;

Honor the noble Pioneers.'

"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 'tamanuse' 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.

"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.

"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:

"'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.'

"Another historical event, apropos right here, was the death and

burial of D. S. Maynard early in 1873.

"The funeral services were conducted March 15, 1873, by Rev. John

F. Damon in Yesler's pavilion, then located at what is now Cherry

and Front Streets. The funeral was under the auspices of St.

John's lodge, of which Dr. Maynard was a member. The remains were

escorted to what is now Denny Park--the gift to the city, of Mr.

David T. Denny--and the casket was deposited and kept in the tool

house of that place until the trail could be cut to the new

Masonic--now Lake View--cemetery. Maynard's body was the first

interred there.

"Miss Louisa Boren, who married Mr. David T. Denny, was the

younger sister of A. A. Denny's wife and came across the plains

with the Denny's in 1851.

"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's edge,

and had at that time, in the spring of 1852, only three cabins,

namely: C. D. Boren's, the bride's brother; W. N. Bell's and A.

A. Denny's. Boren's stood where now stands the Merchant's

National Bank, and Bell's was near the foot of Battery Street.

"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'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.

"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.

"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.

"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 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.

"After the Indian trouble was over the Denny'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.

"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.

"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.

"'People in these days of modern improvements and plenty know

nothing of the hardships the pioneer of forty years ago had to

undergo right here,' said Mr. Denny.

"'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' 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.'

"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.

"The unique invitations sent out for this anniversary, consisted

of a fringed piece of buck-skin stretched over the card and

painted '1851, Ankuti. 1895, Okoke Sun.' 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.

"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:

"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 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."

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.

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 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.

One of these is the Third Street and Suburban Electric Railway, built

and equipped by this energetic pioneer and his sons.

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--much more than they were able to use for

themselves.

* * * * *

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.

Indeed, for many years the bounty of Nature failed not; as late as 1879,

ruffed grouse or "pheasants," 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 daughters, too, quite often

accompanied them.

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,--but we will let the

pioneer mother, Mrs. Louisa Denny, tell the tale as she has often told

it in the yesterdays:

"We were out in the deep forest at the mineral spring the Indians

call 'Licton'; 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--as yet. My boy yelled to

me, at the top of his voice, 'Get up a tree, mother! get up a

tree, quick! The old bear is coming!' 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 'get up a

tree.' We dashed across the brook and climbed up a medium sized

alder tree--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's roar. They have killed plenty of big game

since; my two younger boys shot a fine, large black bear whose

beautiful skin adorns my parlor floor and is much admired."

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.

"What a book the story of my life would make!" she exclaimed in a

retrospective mood--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.

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.

Her marriage and the rearing of beautiful and gifted children, in the

midst of the solemn and noble solitudes of Nature's great domain, where

they often wandered together hand in hand, she the gentle teacher, they

the happy learners, green boughs and fair blossoms bending near--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's pages,

though they be never recorded elsewhere.

AND WHILE SHE WROUGHT, SHE THOUGHT

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.

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 "old women on the jury" were

making trouble for them.

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.

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

"Blessed."

A separate sketch is given in which the life of the first bride of

Seattle is more fully set forth.

CHAPTER V.

LOUISA BOREN DENNY, THE FIRST BRIDE OF SEATTLE,

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, "I have missed my father all my life." A religious nature seems to

have been inherited, as she has also said, "I cannot remember when I did

not pray to God."

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.

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.

Of a striking personal appearance, her fair complexion with a deep rose

flush in the cheeks, sparkling eyes, masses of heavy black hair, small

and perfect figure, would have attracted marked attention in any circle.

Her temperate and wholesome life, never given to fashion'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.

Her school life merged into the teacher's and she took her place in the

ranks of the pioneer instructors, who were truly heroic.

She taught with patience the bare-foot urchins, some of whom were

destined for great things, and boarded 'round as was the primitive

custom.

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.

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's and

step-father's people, her mother having married John Denny and her

sister Mary, A. A. Denny.

[Illustration: FLOWER GARDEN PLANTED BY LOUISA B. DENNY]

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. 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.

She possessed dauntless courage and in the face of danger was cool and

collected.

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 "Blue Ruin" too freely.

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.

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.

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 two women cut and laid

logs for the foundation of a cabin.

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.

The white competitors found themselves distanced by the younger Denny,

who was the first of the name to set foot on Puget Sound.

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.

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.

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.

The young couple moved their worldly possessions 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.

Here began the life of toil and struggle which characterized the early

days.

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.

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.

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'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.

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.

A number of the settlers remained in the fort for some time, as it was

unsafe for them to return to their claims.

On the 16th of March, 1856, her second child was born in Fort Decatur.

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. "There was nothing," she has said,

"that was too hard or disagreeable for me to undertake."

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 "spere."

They removed again to the edge of the settlement and lived for a number

of years in a rose-embowered cottage on Seneca Street.

Accumulating cares filled the years, but she met them with the same high

courage throughout. Her sons and daughters were carefully brought up

and given every available advantage even though it cost her additional

sacrifice.

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.

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.

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.

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.

She traveled on foot many a weary mile or rode over the roughest roads

in a jolting, springless 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's self would seem too great a burden to most people, patient, calm,

uncomplaining.

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.

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 listening to the "blackberry bird," as we called the

olive-backed thrush, or the sigh of the boughs overhead.

The family dog went along, barking cheerfully at every living thing,

chasing rabbits, digging out "suwellas" 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's adventure,

it was mother's hands prepared the evening meal and put the sleepy

children to bed.

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 '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, "Talk about Florida! just

look at these flowers!"

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 our attention when we

all went blackberrying or picnicing in the old, old time.

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.

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.

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.

Her mind is one to originate and further ideas of reform and eagerly

appropriate the best of others' conclusions.

Ever the sympathetic counsellor and friend of her children in work and

study, she shared their pastimes frequently as well. She remembers

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.

On one trip they had the excitement of a cougar hunt; that is, the

cougar seemed to be hunting them, but they "made tracks" and

accomplished their escape; the cougar was afterward killed.

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.

Louisa Boren Denny is a pioneer woman of the best type.

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.

"Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war."

Of the victories over environment and circumstances much might be

written. The lack of comforts and conveniences compelled arduous manual

toil and the busy "brown hands" found many homely duties to engage their

activities. In and out of the cabins the high-browed pioneer mothers

wrought, where now the delicate dames, perhaps, indolently occupy

luxuriant homes.

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, "You might endure such things but we couldn't, _we

are so much finer clay_."

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.

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.

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 by both precept and example, inculcating those high

principles that mark true manhood and womanhood.

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.

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.

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 '50s, I give the following

from the lips of one of the pioneer daughters, Sarah (Bonney) Kellogg:

"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 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.

"We had sent to Olympia for a stove, but it was six weeks before it

reached its destination."

Think of cooking outdoors for six weeks for a family of growing

children, with only the fewest possible dishes and utensils, too!

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.

Now and then a wild cry sounds faintly or fully over the water or from

the sighing depths of the vast wilderness.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER Va.

A NATIVE DAUGHTER, BORN IN FORT DECATUR.

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, "Madge is such a

dainty thing."

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!--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.

The Indians admired her exceedingly, and both they and the white people

of the little settlement often remarked upon her beauty.

In early youth she showed a keen intellectuality, reading with avidity

at ten years such books as Irving's "Life of Washington," "History of

France," "Pilgrim's Progress," Sir Walter Scott's "Lay of the Last

Minstrel" and "Lady of the Lake." 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.

The surpassing loveliness and grandeur of the "world in the open air"

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's gown and

lisping, "Look! mother, look! so pitty!" (pretty).

[Illustration: DAUGHTERS OF D. T. AND LOUISA DENNY

Emily Inez Madge Decatur Anna Louisa Mrs. Abbie

Denny-Lindsley]

And such a lover of flowers! From this same season when she gathered

armfuls of great, golden buttercups, blue violets, scarlet columbines,

"flags" 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 horseback some distance to procure the lovely

lady's slipper (Calypso borealis), the favorite flower of the pioneer

children.

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's slippers.

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 "funny piece" before an audience among whom she sat, the

speaker evidently not knowing its author. A parody on "Poe's Raven" made

another audience weep real tears in anguished mirth.

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 _sotto

voce_ comments, murmured with a grave countenance, were disastrous to

their composure and "company manners."

It must be recorded of her that she gave up selfish pleasures to be her

mother's helper, whose chief stay she was through many years. In her

last illness she said, with much tenderness, "Mother, who will help you

now?"

Madge was a true _lady_ or _loaf-giver_. 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.

Moreover, she was genuine, nothing she undertook was slighted or done in

a slipshod manner.

Her taste and judgment were accurate and sound in literature and art;

her love of art led her to exclaim regretfully, "When we are dead and

gone, the landscape will bristle with easels."

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.

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 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,

"We're traveling to the grave

To lay this body down,

And the last word that I heard him speak

Was about Jerusalem," etc.

She was so thoroughly in earnest that the older children refrained from

laughing at what some might have thought unnecessary solemnity.

Madge had her share of adventures, too; one dark night she came near

drowning in Lake 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 "A rope! A rope!" but not a rope could

they lay their hands on. After what seemed an age to her, a lantern

flashed into the darkness and a long pole held by seven men was held

down to her; she grasped it firmly and, as she afterward said, felt as

if she could climb to the moon with its assistance--and was safely drawn

up, taken to a miner's cottage, where a kind-hearted woman dressed her

in dry clothing. She reached home none the worse for her narrow escape.

Her nerves were nerves of steel; she seldom exhibited a shadow of fear

and seemed of a spirit to undertake any daring feat. To dare the

darkness, climb declivities, explore recesses, seemed pleasures to her

courageous nature. At Snoqualmie Falls, in the Archipelago de Haro, in

the Jupiter Hills of the Olympic Range, she climbed up and down the

steep gorges with the agility of the chamois or our own mountain goat.

The forest, the mountain, the 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:

"I saw the long line of the vacant shore

The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand

And the brown rocks left bare on every hand

As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.

Then heard I more distinctly than before,

The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,

And hurrying came on the defenseless land,

The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar;

All thought and feeling and desire, I said

Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song

Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me

They swept again from their deep ocean bed,

And in a tumult of delight and strong

As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me."

It must have been that "Bird and bee and blossom taught her Love's spell

to know," and then she went away to the "land where Love itself had

birth."

CHAPTER Vb.

LIKE A FOREST FLOWER.

ANNA LOUISA DENNY.

Anna was the fourth daughter of D. T. and Louisa Boren Denny. In infancy

she showed a marked talent for music, signifying by her eyes, head and

hands her approval of certain tunes, preferring them to all others.

Before she was able to frame words she could sing tunes. When a young

girl her memory for musical tones was marvelous, enabling her to

reproduce difficult strains while yet unable to read the notes.

Possessed of a pure, high, flexible soprano voice, her singing was a

delight to her friends. Upon hearing famous singers render favorite

airs, her pleasure shone from every feature, although her comments were

few. On the long summer camping expeditions of the family, the music

books went along with her brothers' cornets, possibly her own flute, and

many a happy hour was spent as we drove leisurely along past the tall,

dark evergreens, or floated on the silvery waters of the Sound, with

perhaps a book of duets open before us, singing sweet songs of bird,

blossom and pine tree.

While the other daughters were small and delicately formed, Anna grew up

to be a tall, statuesque woman of a truly 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.

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.

Childhood in the wild Northwest braved many dangers both seen and

unseen.

While returning late one summer night through the deep forest to our

home after having attended a concert in which the children had taken

part, Anna, then a little girl of perhaps seven or eight years, had a

narrow escape from some wild beast, either a cougar or wildcat. Her

mother, who was leading her a little behind the others, said that

something grabbed at her and disappeared instantly in the thick

undergrowth; grasping her hand more firmly she started to run and the

little party, thoroughly frightened, fairly flew along the road toward

home.

In this north country it is never really dark on a cloudless summer

night, but the heavy forests enshroud the roads and trails in a deep

twilight.

Anna, like her sister Madge, was a daring rider and they often went

together on long trips through the forest. At one time each was mounted

on a lively Indian pony, both of which doubtless had seen strange things

and enjoyed many exciting experiences, but were supposed to be quite

lamblike and docile. Some reminiscence must have crossed their equine

minds, and they apparently challenged each other to a race, so race they

must and race they did at a lightning speed on the home run.

They came flying up the lane to the house (the homestead on Lake Union)

in a succession of leaps that would have made Pegasus envious had he

been "thar or tharabouts." Their riders stuck on like 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.

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.

At a notable celebration of Decoration Day in Seattle, she was chosen to

walk beside the teacher at the head of the school procession; both were

tall, handsome young women, carrying the school banner bearing the

motto, "Right, then Onward."

It was to this school, which bore his own name, that her father

presented a beautiful piano as a memorial of her; it bears the words,

from her own lips, "I believe in Jesus," in gold letters across the

front.

In 1888 she accompanied her family across the continent to the eastern

coast, where she expected 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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

It might be asked, "Does the environment affect the character and mental

development, even the physical configuration?" We answer, "Yes, we

believe it does." 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 among the

children of the pioneers of Puget Sound and many of their successors.

* * * * *

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.

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.

* * * * *

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.

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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER Vc.

ONE OF THE COURAGEOUS YOUTHS.

William Richard Boren was one of the boy pioneers. He was born in

Seattle on the 4th of October, 1854.

The children necessarily shared with their parents and guardians the

hardships, dangers, adventures and pleasures of the wild life of the

early days.

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 "chores" of a pioneer home he helped to do willingly and

cheerfully.

Every pair of hands must help, and the children learned while very young

that they were to be industrious and useful.

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.

Some children seem to have little fear of anything, but it was

different with William; he was afraid; as he graphically described it,

he "_felt as if something would catch him in the back_." But he

steadfastly traveled the dark trails, showing a remarkable quality of

courage.

His sensations cannot be attributed to constitutional timidity

altogether, as there were real dangers from wild beasts and savage men

in those days.

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's bell, although to the eye she was lost in the dusk in

the trail ahead, he felt safe.

He calmly faced dangers, both seen and unseen, in after years.

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

"pheasants" (ruffed grouse).

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's slipper or Calypso Borealis, and a bag of

fat "hooters" for the stew or pie so much relished by the settlers.

The majority of the pioneer boys were not expected to be particular as

to whether they did men's work or women'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.

He was a total abstainer from intoxicants and tobacco, and to the

amusement of his friends said he "could not see any sense in jumping

around the room," as he described the social dance. It surprised no one,

therefore, that he should grow up straight and vigorous, able to endure

many hardships.

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, "Halt, if you please, and let me sketch you

right there." 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.

William Boren was an active and useful member of the M. E. or "White

Church" in Seattle many years ago. This was the first church established

in Seattle.

He removed from the settlement and lived on a ranch for a number of

years.

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.

This was probably overexertion; also in later years, heavy lifting in a

logging camp may have helped break his naturally strong constitution.

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 "hold" of huge stumps, by hanging across a large pole in

mid-air.

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.

* * * * *

"O bearded, stalwart, westmost men,

A kingdom won without the guilt

Of studied battle; that hath been

Your blood's inheritance.

* * * * *

"Yea, Time, the grand old harvester,

Has gathered you from wood and plain.

We call to you again, again;

The rush and rumble of the car

Comes back in answer. Deep and wide

The wheels of progress have passed on;

The silent pioneer is gone."

CHAPTER VI.

ARTHUR A. DENNY.

(Born June 20th, 1822, Died January 9th, 1889.)

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, "Well, it is all true, and much more might be said."

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.

From sketches published in the local papers I have made these

selections:

"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 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.

"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.

"Their paternal and maternal grandparents served in the

revolutionary war. The former belonged to Washington's command at

the time of Braddock's defeat.

"John Denny was a soldier in the war of 1812, being in Col.

Richard M. Johnson's regiment of Kentucky volunteers. He was also

an ensign in Capt. McFee'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 died July 28th, 1875, when 83

years of age. His first wife died March 21st, 1841, when 44 years

of age.

"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:

"'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.

"'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.'"

A. A. Denny was married November 23, 1843, to Mary Ann Boren, to whom

he has paid a graceful and well-deserved tribute in these words:

"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."

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.

His business enterprises date from the founding of the City of Seattle

and are interwoven with its history.

He was a volunteer in the war against the Indians and had some stirring

experiences. In his book, "Pioneer Days on Puget Sound," he gives a very

clear and accurate account of the beginning of the trouble with the

Indians and many facts concerning the war following.

He found, as many others did, good and true friends, as well as

enemies, among the Indians. On page 68 of the work mentioned may be

found these words: "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."

With regard to the dissatisfied tenderfoot he says: "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."

There are a good many other pithy remarks in this book, forcible for

their truth and simplicity.

As the stories of adventure have an imperishable fascination, I give his

own account of the discovery of Shilshole or Salmon Bay:

"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 without 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."

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.

He also relates that he shot a pheasant and broiled it before the fire,

dividing it in halves.

A. A. Denny further says:

"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.

"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."

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

salt marsh, in sufficient quantity to sustain the cattle.

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: "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'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."

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'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 "war" terminated as

above stated.

In the fall of 1855, the Indians exhibited more and more hostility

toward the whites, and narrow escapes were not uncommon before the war

fairly broke out.

About this time as A. A. Denny was making a canoe voyage from Olympia

down the Sound he met with a thrilling experience.

When he and his two Indian canoemen were opposite a camp of savages on

the beach, they were hailed by the latter with:

"Who is it you have in the canoe and where are you going?" 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'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.

Finally the pursuers were near enough so that one reached out to catch

hold of the canoe when Denny'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.

He afterward learned that his canoeman, 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

"hyas tyee" (great man) and a most suitable subject for their

satisfaction.

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.

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.

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.

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.

A. A. Denny fought the long battle of the pioneer faithfully and well

and sleeps in an honored grave.

MARY A. DENNY.

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.

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?

November 23rd, 1843, she married Arthur A. Denny, a man who both

recognized and acknowledged her worth.

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.

At Fort Laramie her own feet were so uncomfortable 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.

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.

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?

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.

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, giving her a decided prejudice against

camping out.

The mother'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.

Louisa Boren Denny, her sister, then unmarried, relates the following

incident:

"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."

Mary A. Denny, when asked recently what she thought might have been his

reason for doing so replied, "Well, I don'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."

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.

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.

Mrs. Mary A. Denny moved about from 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.

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.

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.

Mrs. Mary A. Denny'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.

Mrs. Denny makes her home with Lenora, the younger unmarried daughter,

at her palatial 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' home.

CHAPTER VII.

HENRY VAN ASSELT OF DUWAMISH.

In the Post-Intelligencer of December 8th and 9th, 1902, appeared the

following sketches of this well known pioneer:

"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'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.

"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 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' 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."

SAID VALUES INCREASED.

"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

homestead as the site of the new rolling mill and foundry to be

constructed by the Vulcan Iron Works.

"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.

"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 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.

"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.

"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 did in pioneer days to

save and maintain the peaceful relations with the savages.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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:

"'Mr. Van Asselt was a man of sterling character. His word was as

good as a government bond. I knew him almost from the beginning

of his life here. He was one of the kindliest men I ever met.

"'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' 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.

"'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.

"'I remember that after he had lived here for several years he

moved to town and established a cabinet maker'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.

"'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.'

"Samuel Crawford knew Mr. Van Asselt intimately since 1876. He

said last night:

"'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.

"'Mr. Van Asselt was one of the best men that ever lived. His

word was as good as gold, 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.'

"Thomas W. Prosch had known Mr. Van Asselt for many years. He,

too, paid a tribute to his fine character, and rugged honesty.

'Six years ago,' said Mr. Prosch, '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.

"'Mr. Van Asselt told me that he met Hill 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' place at Nesqually,

and he came here to locate with Van Asselt and the others.

Collins' family was the first white family to establish a home in

King County.'"

CHAPTER VIII.

THOMAS MERCER.

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.

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'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's adventure, 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.

CROSSING THE PLAINS.

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.

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 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's claims, and all of these

tracts were included within the city limits about fifteen years ago.

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.

The old home on the farm that the Indians 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--these two alone escaped. The

Indians were asked, after the war, why they did not burn Mercer's house,

to which they replied, "Oh, old Mercer might want it again." 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.

In the early '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.

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.

To Mr. Mercer belongs the honor of naming the lakes adjacent to and

almost surrounding the city. At a social gathering or picnic in 1855 he

made a short address and proposed the adoption of "Union" for the small

lake between the bay and the large lake, and "Washington" 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's thousands

has taken a keener interest or greater pride than he in the recent

development of the city'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.

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.

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 remember his liberality. In a period

of five years he gave away at least $20,000 in public and private

donations.

Judge Mercer was a charter member of the Pioneers' 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.

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.

"Judge Thomas Mercer died yesterday morning, May 25th, at 5:15

o'clock, after a brief illness, at his home in North Seattle,

within a stone'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."--(From Post-Intelligencer of

May 26th, 1898.)

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 knew we could always claim, the

cheerful greetings and friendly visits.

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.

He said, "Whatever other reasons may have been given, that he understood

some Indians to say the reason they did not burn Mercer's house during

the war, was that Mercer was 'klosh tum-tum,' (kind, friendly, literally

a good heart), and 'he wawa-ed Sahale Tyee' (prayed to the Heavenly

Chief or Great Spirit). Thus did he let his light shine; even the

savages beheld it."

In closing a touching, suggestive and affectionate tribute, he quoted

these lines:

"O what hath Jesus bought for me!

Before my ravish'd eyes

Rivers of life divine I see,

And trees of Paradise;

I see a world of spirits bright,

Who taste the pleasures there;

They all are robed in spotless white,

And conqu'ring palms they bear."

HESTER L. MERCER.

When a child I often visited this good pioneer woman--so faithful,

cheerful, kind, self-forgetful.

With busy hands she toiled from morning to night, scarcely sitting down

without some house-wifely task to occupy her while she chatted.

Of a very lively disposition, her laugh was frequent and merry.

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:

"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'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.

"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 little

fortune in the southern country. Jesse Ward at the age of 18

joined a regiment of Kentucky volunteers which was a part of

Jackson's army at the defense of New Orleans in 1814.

"Mrs. Mercer was born in Hartford, the county seat of Ohio

county, Kentucky. She was but a little tot when her mother died.

"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.

[Illustration: ERYTHRONIUM OF LAKE UNION]

"Mrs. Mercer, then Hester Ward, took the 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.

"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.

"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.

"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'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 their enemies, the Blackfeet and Snake River

Indians the day before. Crowned with victory, they were on their

way home to celebrate.

"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.

"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.

"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 and produced a copy of a treaty with the government to show

that his people loved the white men.

"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?

"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.

"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 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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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 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.

"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.

"D. B. Ward, a half brother of Mrs. Mercer, also came with them.

"'Seattle was not a very big city in those days,' said Mr. Ward

recently in discussing the matter. '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.'

"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

did many kind acts of which the world knew but little."

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' 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.

Mr. Mercer, at the age of 84 (in 1897), still survives her, passing a

peaceful old age in the midst of relatives and friends.

CHAPTER IX.

DR. HENRY A. SMITH, THE BRILLIANT WRITER.

This well known pioneer joined the "mighty nation moving west" 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's Cove.

Being a gifted writer he has made numerous contributions to northwestern

literature, both in prose and poetry.

In a rarely entertaining set of papers entitled "Early Reminiscences,"

he brings vividly to the minds of his readers the "good old times" 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.