Blazing the Way; Or, True Stories, Songs and Sketches of Puget Sound

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

Now and then the settlers were spectators in dramas of Indian romance.

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

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

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

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

On a fine, fair morning in the early spring of 1852, two women set forth from the settlement at Alki, to cross Elliott Bay in a fishing canoe, with Indians to paddle and a large dog to protect them from possible wild animals in the forest, for in that wild time, bears, cougars and wolves roamed the shores of Puget Sound.

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

One of the conditions of safe travel in a canoe is a quiet and careful demeanor, the most approved plan being to sit down in the bottom of the craft and

stay there

.

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

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

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

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

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

They baked their bread before the fire on a willow board hewed from a piece of a tree which grew near the camp; the only cooking vessel was a tin pail; the salmon they got off the Indians was roasted before the fire on a stick.

The cabin was unfinished when the famous landing was made, November 13th, 1851, because J. N. Low returned to Portland, having been on the Sound but a few days, then Lee Terry boarded Collins’ scow on its return trip up Sound leaving D. T. Denny alone for about three weeks, during most of which time he was ill. This was Low’s cabin; after the landing of Bell, Boren and A. A. Denny and the others of the party, among whom were Low and C. C. Terry, a roof was put on the unfinished cabin and they next built A. A. Denny’s and then two cabins of split cedar for Bell and Boren and their families.

When they moved to the east side of Elliott Bay, Bell’s was the first one built. W. N. Bell and D. T. Denny built A. A. Denny’s on the east side, as he was sick. D. T. Denny had served an apprenticeship in cabin building, young as he was, nineteen years of age, before he came to Puget Sound.

The first of D. T. Denny’s cabins he built himself with the aid of three Indians. There was not a stick or piece of sawed stuff in it.

However, by the August following his marriage, which took place January 23rd, 1853, he bought of H. L. Yesler lumber from his sawmill at about $25.00 per M. to put up a little board house, sixteen by twenty feet near the salt water, between Madison and Marion streets, Seattle.

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

CHAPTER IV

FOUNDING OF SEATTLE AND INDIAN WAR

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

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

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

The settlers at Alki moved over to their claims in the spring of 1852, some of them camping until they could build log cabins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On another occasion the young wife lay sick and alone in the cabin above mentioned and a good neighbor, Mrs. Sarah Bell, from her home a mile away, came to see her, bringing some wild

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  Ruffed grouse.

 pheasant’s eggs the men had found while cutting spars. While the women chatted, an Indian came and stood idly looking in over the half-door and his companion lurked in the brush near by.

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

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

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

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

He was naturally angry and said menacingly that the white people were few, their doors were thin and the Indians could easily break them in and kill all the “Bostons.”

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

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

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

Time would fail to recount the injuries and indignities heaped upon the Indians by the evil-minded among the whites, who could scarcely have been better than the same class among the natives they sought to displace.

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

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

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

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

Hu-hu-bate-sute or “Salmon Bay Curley,” a tall, hawk-nosed, eagle-eyed Indian with very curly hair, was a staunch friend of the “Bostons.”

Thlid Kanem or “Cut-Hand” sent Lake John Che-shi-a-hud to Shilshole to inform this “Curley,” who lived there, of the intended attack on Seattle. Curley told Ira W. Utter, a white settler on Shilshole or Salmon Bay, and brought him up to Seattle in his own canoe during the night.

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

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

“Old Mose” or Show-halthlk brought word to Seattle of the approach of the hostile bands in January, 1856.

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

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

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

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

An extenuating circumstance was the fact that a large salmon might be purchased for a brass button, while red flannel, beads, knives and other “ictas” (things) were legal tender for potatoes, venison, berries and clams.

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

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

There were no roads, only a few trails through the forest; a common mode of travel was to follow the beach, the traveler having to be especially mindful of the tide as the banks are so abrupt in many places that at high tide the shore is impassable. The Indian canoe was pressed into service whenever possible.

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

Of the original settlement, J. N. Low and family remained at Alki.

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

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

And then, too, the pioneer housewife soon became a shrewd searcher for indigenous articles of food. Among these were nettle greens gathered in the woods.

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

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

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

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

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

An Indian had come to trade, “Old Alki John,” and a misunderstanding appears to have arisen about the price of a sack of flour. The women, seated chatting at one end of the cabin, were chilled with horror to see the white man, his face pale with anger and excitement, raise an ax as if to strike the Indian, who had a large knife, such as many of them wore suspended from the wrist by a cord; the latter, a tall and brawny fellow, regarded him with a threatening look.

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

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

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

The commodious blockhouse so named after the good sloop-of-war that rescued the town of Seattle from the hostiles, stood on an eminence at the end of Cherry Street overlooking the Bay. At this time there were about three hundred white inhabitants.

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

The mutterings of discontent among the Indians portended war and the settlers made haste to prepare a place of refuge. The timbers were dragged up the hill by oxen and many willing hands promptly put them in place; hewn to the line, the joints were close and a good shingle roof covered the building, to which were added two bastions of sawed stuff from Yesler’s mill. D. T. Denny remembers the winter was a mild one, and men went about without coats, otherwise “in their shirtsleeves.” While they were building the fort, the U. S. Sloop-of-war

Decatur

, sailed up the Bay with a fair breeze, came to anchor almost directly opposite, swung around and fired off the guns, sixteen thirty-two-pounders, making thunderous reverberations far and wide, a sweet sound to the settlers.

Several of the too confident ones laughed and scoffed at the need of a fort while peace seemed secure. One of these doubters was told by Mrs. Louisa Denny that the people laughed at Noah when he built the ark, and it transpired that a party was obliged to bring this objector and his family into the fort from their claim two miles away, after dark of the night before the battle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beside the Decatur, a solitary sailing vessel, the Bark Brontes, was anchored in the harbor.

Those to engage in the battle were the detachments of men from the Decatur, under Lieutenants Drake, Hughes, Morris and Phelps, ninety-six men and eighteen marines, leaving a small number on board.

A volunteer three months’ company of settlers of whom C. C. Hewitt was Captain, Wm. Gilliam, First Lieutenant, D. T. Denny, Corporal and Robert Olliver, Sergeant, aided in the defense.

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

Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny forsook their cabin in the wilderness and spent an anxious ni