JOHN DENNY.
As elsewhere indicated, only a few of the leading characters will be followed in their careers. Of these, John Denny is fittingly placed first.
John Denny was born of pioneer parents near Lexington, Kentucky, May 4th, 1793. In 1813 he was a volunteer in Col. Richard M. Johnson’s regiment of mounted riflemen, and served through the war, participated in the celebrated battle of the Thames in Canada, where Tecumseh was killed and the British army under Proctor surrendered. Disaster fell upon him, the results of which followed him throughout his life. The morning gun stampeded the horses in camp while the soldiers were still asleep, and they ran over John Denny where he lay asleep in a tent, wounding his knee so that the synovial fluid ran out and also broke three of his ribs. In 1823 he removed to Putnam County, Indiana, then an unknown wilderness, locating six miles east of Greencastle, where he resided for the succeeding twelve years. He is remembered as a leading man of energy and public spirit.
In 1835 he removed to Illinois and settled in Knox County, then near the frontier of civilization, where he lived for the next succeeding sixteen years, during which time he represented his county in both branches of the state legislature, serving with Lincoln, Douglas, Baker, Yates, Washburn and Trumbull, with all of whom he formed warm personal friendships, which lasted through life, despite political differences.
In 1851, at an age when most men think they have outlived their usefulness and seek the repose demanded by their failing physical strength, accompanied by his children and grandchildren, he braved the toils and perils of an overland journey to this then remote wilderness upon the extreme borders of civilization and settled upon a farm in Marion County, Oregon, while his sons, Arthur A. and David T., took claims on Elliott Bay and were among the founders of Seattle, where they command universal respect for their intelligence, integrity and public spirit, Arthur having represented the territory as delegate in congress and served several terms in the Territorial Legislature.
David has held many responsible public positions, including Probate Judge and Regent of the University, and is respected by all as a clear-headed and scrupulously honest man and most estimable citizen.
John Denny remained in Oregon about six years, but held no official position there, for the reason that he was an uncompromising Whig and Oregon was overwhelmingly Democratic, including among the leaders of the Democratic party George H. Williams, Judge Deady, Gov. Gibbs and much of the best intellect of the state.
He, however, entered warmly into the political discussions of the times, and many incidents are remembered and many anecdotes told of the astonishment and discomfiture of some of the most pretentious public speakers when meeting the unpretending pioneer farmer in public discussion. He was a natural orator and had improved his gift by practice and extensive reading.
Few professional men were better posted in current history and governmental philosophy or could make a better use of their knowledge in addressing a popular audience.
In 1859 he removed to Seattle, and from that time on to the day of his death was a recognized leader in every enterprise calculated to promote the prosperity of the town or advance its educational and social interests. No public measure, no public meeting to consider public enterprise, was a success in which he was not a central figure, not as an assumed director, but as an earnest co-operator, who enthused others by his own undaunted spirit of enterprise, and when past eighty years of age his voice was heard stirring up the energies of the people, and by his example, no less than his precepts, he shamed the listless and selfish younger men into activity and public spirit.
When any special legislative aid was desired for this section, John Denny was certain to be selected to obtain it; by his efforts mainly the Territorial University was located at this place.
He passed his long and active life almost wholly upon the frontiers of civilization, not from any aversion to the refinements and restraints of social life, for few men possessed higher social qualities or had in any greater degree the nicer instincts of a gentleman—he held a patent of nobility under the signet of the Almighty, and his intercourse with others was ever marked by a courtesy which betokened not only self-respect but a due regard for the rights and opinions of others. He was impelled by as noble ambition as ever sought the conquest of empire or the achievement of personal glory—the subduing of the unoccupied portions of his country to the uses of man, with the patriotic purpose of extending his country’s glory and augmenting its resources.
His first care in every settlement was to establish and promote education, religion and morality as the only true foundation of social as well as individual prosperity, and with all his courage and manly strength he rarely, if ever, was drawn into a lawsuit.
John Denny was of that noble race of men, now nearly extinct, who formed the vanguard of Western civilization and were the founders of empire. Their day is over, their vocation ended, because the limit of their enterprise has been reached. Among the compeers of the same stock were Dick Johnson, Harrison, Lincoln, Harden and others famous in the history of the country, who only excelled him in historic note by biding their opportunities in waiting to reap the fruits of the harvest which they had planted. He was the peer of the best in all the elements of manhood, of heart and brain. In all circumstances and surroundings he was a recognized leader of men, and would have been so honored and so commanded that leading place in public history had he waited for the development of the social institutions which he helped to plant in the Western states, now the seat of empire. All who entered his presence were instinctively impressed by his manhood. Yet no man was less pretentious or more unostentatious in his intercourse with others.
He reverenced his manhood, and felt himself here among men his brethren under the eye of a common Father.
He felt that he was bound to work for all like a brother and like a son.
So he was brave, so he was true, so his integrity was unsullied, so not a stain dims his memory; so he rebuked vice and detested meanness and hated with a cordial hate all falsehood, all dishonesty and all trickery; so he was the chivalrous champion of the innocent and oppressed; so he was gentle and merciful, because he was working among a vast family as a brother “recognizing the Great Father, Who sits over all, Who is forever Truth and forever Love.”
Such words as these were said of him at the time of his death, when the impressions of his personality were fresh in the minds of the people.
He entered into rest July 28th, 1875.
It is within my recollection that the keen criticisms and droll anecdotes of John Denny were often repeated by his hearers. The power with which he swayed an audience was something wonderful to behold; the burning enthusiasm which his oratory kindled, inciting to action, the waves of convulsive laughter his wit evoked were abundant evidence of his influence.
In repartee, he excelled. At one time when A. A. Denny was a member of the Territorial Legislature, John Denny was on his way to the capital to interview him, doubtless concerning some important measure; he received the hospitality of a settler who was a stranger to him and moreover very curious with regard to the traveler’s identity and occupation. At last this questioning brought forth the remarkable statement that he, John Denny, had a son in the lunatic ass-ylum in Olympia whom he intended visiting.
The questioner delightedly related it afterward, laughing heartily at the compliment paid to the Legislature.
In a published sketch a personal friend says: “He was so full of humor that it was impossible to conceal it, and his very presence became a mirth-provoking contagion absolutely irresistible in its effects.
“Let him come when he would, everybody was ready to drop everything else to listen to a story from Uncle John.
“He went home to the States during the war, via the Isthmus of Panama. On the trip down from San Francisco the steamer ran on a rock and stuck fast. Of course, there was a great fright and excitement, many crying out ‘We shall all be drowned,’ ‘Lord save us!’ etc. Amid it all Uncle John coolly took in the chances of the situation, and when a little quiet had been restored so he could be heard by all in the cabin, he said: ‘Well, I reckon there was a fair bargain between me and the steamship company to carry me down to Panama, and they’ve got their cash for it, and now if they let me drown out here in this ornery corner, where I can’t have a decent funeral, I’ll sue ’em for damages, and bust the consarned old company all to flinders.’
“This had the effect to divert the passengers, and helped to prevent a panic, and not a life was lost.
“In early life he had been a Whig and in Illinois had fought many a hard battle with the common enemy. He had represented his district repeatedly in the legislature of that state, and he used to tell with pride, and a good deal of satisfaction, how one day a handful of the Whigs, Old Abe and himself among the number, broke a quorum of the house by jumping from a second-story window, thereby preventing the passage of a bill which was obnoxious to the Whigs.
“The Democrats had been watching their opportunity, and having secured a quorum with but few of the Whigs in the house, locked the doors and proposed to put their measure through. But the Whigs nipped the little game in the manner related.”
After Lincoln had become President and John Denny had crossed the Plains and pioneered it in Oregon and Washington Territories, the latter visited the national capital on important business.
While there Mr. Denny attended a presidential reception and tested his old friend’s memory in this way: Forbidding his name to be announced, he advanced in the line and gave his hand to President Lincoln, then essayed to pass on. Lincoln tightened his grasp and said, “No you don’t, John Denny; you come around back here and we’ll have a talk after a while.”
On the stump he was perfectly at home, never coming off second best. His ready wit and tactics were sure to stand him in hand at the needed moment.
In one of the early campaigns of Washington Territory, which was a triangular combat waged by Republicans, Democrats and “Bolters,” John Denny, who was then a Republican, became one of the third party. At a political meeting which was held in Seattle, at which I was present, a young man recently from the East and quite dandyish, a Republican and a lawyer, made quite a high-sounding speech; after he sat down John Denny advanced to speak.
He began very coolly to point out how they had been deceived by the rascally Republican representative in his previous term of office, and suddenly pointing his long, lean forefinger directly at the preceding speaker, his voice gathering great force and intensity, he electrified the audience by saying, “And no little huckleberry lawyer can blind us to the facts in the case.”
The audience roared, the “huckleberry lawyer’s” face was scarlet and his curly locks fairly bristled with embarrassment. The hearers were captivated and listened approvingly to a round scoring of the opponents of the “bolters.”
He was a fearless advocate of temperance, or prohibition rather, of woman suffragists when they were weak, few and scoffed at, an abolitionist and a determined enemy of tobacco. I have seen him take his namesake among the grandchildren between his aged knees and say, “Don’t ever eat tobacco, John; your grandfather wishes he had never touched it.” His oft-repeated advice was heeded by this grandson, who never uses it in any form.
He was tall, slender, with snow-white hair and a speaking countenance full of the most glowing intelligence.
When the news came to the little village of Seattle that he had returned from Washington City, where he had been laboring to secure an appropriation for the Territorial University, two of his little grandchildren ran up the hill to meet him; he took off his high silk hat, his silvery hair shining in the fair sunlight and smiled a greeting, as they grasped either hand and fairly led him to their home.
A beautiful tribute from the friend before quoted closes this brief and inadequate sketch:
“He sleeps out yonder midway between the lakes (Washington and Union), where the shadows of the Cascades in the early morning fall upon the rounded mound of earth that marks his resting place, and the shadows of the Olympics in the early evening rest lovingly and caressingly on the same spot; there, where the song birds of the forest and the wild flowers and gentle zephyrs, laden with the perfume of the fir and cedar, pay a constant tribute to departed goodness and true worth.”
SARAH LATIMER DENNY.
The subject of this sketch was a Tennessean of an ancestry notable for staying qualities, religious steadfastness and solid character, as well as gracious and kindly bearing.
On her father’s side she traced descent from the martyr, Hugh Latimer, and although none of the name have been called to die at the stake in the latter days, Washington Latimer, nephew of Sarah Latimer Denny, was truly a martyr to principle, dying in Andersonville prison during the Rebellion.
The prevailing sentiment of the family was patriotic and strongly in favor of the abolition movement.
One of the granddaughters pleasurably recalls the vision of Joseph Latimer, father of Sarah, sitting in his dooryard, under the boughs of a great Balm of Gilead tree, reading his Bible.
Left to be the helper of her mother when very young, by the marriage of her elder sister, she quickly became a competent manager in household affairs, sensible of her responsibilities, being of a grave and quiet disposition.
She soon married a young Baptist minister, Richard Freeman Boren, whose conversion and call to the ministry were clear and decided. His first sermon was preached in the sitting room of a private house, where were assembled, among others, a number of his gay and pleasure-loving companions, whom he fearlessly exhorted to a holy life.
His hands were busy with his trade of cabinetmaking a part of the time, for the support of his family, although he rode from place to place to preach.
A few years of earnest Christian work, devoted affection and service to his family and he passed away to his reward, leaving the young widow with three little children, the youngest but eighteen months old.
In her old age she often reverted to their brief, happy life together, testifying that he never spoke a cross word to her.
She told of his premonition of death and her own remarkable dream immediately preceding that event.
While yet in apparently perfect health he disposed of all his tools, saying that he would not need them any more.
One night, toward morning, she dreamed that she saw a horse saddled and bridled at the gate and some one said to her that she must mount and ride to see her husband, who was very sick; she obeyed, in her dream, riding over a strange road, crossing a swollen stream at one point.
At daylight she awoke; a horse with side-saddle on was waiting and a messenger called her to go to her husband, as he was dangerously ill at a distant house. Exactly as in her dream she was conducted, she traversed the road and crossed the swollen stream to reach the place where he lay, stricken with a fatal malady.
After his death she returned to her father’s house, but the family migrated from Tennessee to Illinois, spent their first winter in Sangamon County, afterward settling in Knox County.
There the brave young pioneer took up her abode in a log cabin on a piece of land which she purchased with the proceeds of her own hard toil.
The cabin was built without nails, of either oak or black walnut logs, it is not now known, with oak clapboards, braces and weight-poles and puncheon floor. There was one window without glass, a stick and clay mortar chimney, and a large, cheerful fireplace where the backlogs and fore-sticks held pyramids of dancing, ruddy flames, and the good cooking was done in the good old way.
By industry and thrift everything was turned to account. The ground was made to yield wheat, corn and flax; the last was taken through the whole process of manufacture into bed and table linen on the spot. Sheep were raised, the wool sheared, carded, spun, dyed and woven, all by hand, by this indefatigable worker, just as did many others of her time.
They made almost every article of clothing they wore, besides cloth for sale.
Great, soft, warm feather beds comforted them in the cold Illinois winters, the contents of which were plucked from the home flock of geese.
As soon as the children were old enough, they assisted in planting corn and other crops.
The domestic supplies were almost entirely of home production and manufacture. Soap for washing owed its existence to the ash-hopper and scrap-kettle, and the soap-boiling was an important and necessary process. The modern housewife would consider herself much afflicted if she had to do such work.
And the sugar-making, which had its pleasant side, the sugar camp and its merry tenants.
About half a mile from the cabin stood the sugar maple grove to which this energetic provider went to tap the trees, collect the sap and finally boil the same until the “sugaring off.” A considerable event it was, with which they began the busy season.
One of the daughters of Sarah Latimer Denny remembers that when a little child she went with her mother to the sugar camp where they spent the night. Resting on a bed of leaves, she listened to her mother as she sang an old camp meeting hymn, “Wrestling Jacob,” while she toiled, mending the fire and stirring the sap, all night long under dim stars sprinkled in the naked branches overhead.
Other memories of childish satisfaction hold visions of the early breakfast when “Uncle John” came to see his widowed sister, who, with affectionate hospitality, set the “Johnny-cake” to bake on a board before the fire, made chocolate, fried the chicken and served them with snowy biscuits and translucent preserves.
For the huge fireplace, huge lengths of logs, for the backlogs, were cut, which required three persons to roll in place.
Cracking walnuts on the generous hearth helped to beguile the long winter evenings. A master might have beheld a worthy subject in the merry children and their mother thus occupied.
If other light were needed than the ruddy gleams the fire gave, it was furnished by a lard lamp hung by a chain and staple in the wall, or one of a pallid company of dipped candles.
Sometimes there were unwelcome visitors bent on helping themselves to the best the farm afforded; one day a wolf chased a chicken up into the chimney corner of the Boren cabin, to the consternation of the small children. Wolves also attacked the sheep alongside the cabin at the very moment when one of the family was trying to catch some lambs; such savage boldness brought hearty and justifiable screams from the young shepherdess thus engaged.
The products of the garden attached to this cabin are remembered as wonderful in richness and variety; the melons, squashes, pumpkins, etc., the fragrant garden herbs, the dill and caraway seeds for the famous seedcakes carried in grandmothers’ pockets or “reticules.” In addition to these, the wild fruits and game; haws, persimmons, grapes, plums, deer and wild turkey; the medicinal herbs, bone-set and blood-root; the nut trees heavily laden in autumn, all ministered to the comfort and health of the pioneers.
The mistress was known for her generous hospitality then, and throughout her life. In visiting and treating the sick she distanced educated practitioners in success. Never a violent partisan, she was yet a steadfast friend. One daughter has said that she never knew any one who came so near loving her neighbor as herself. Just, reasonable, kind, ever ready with sympathetic and wholesome advice, it was applicably said of her, “She openeth her mouth with wisdom and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”
As the years went by the children were sent to school, the youngest becoming a teacher.
Toilsome years they were, but doubtless full of rich reward.
Afterward, while yet in the prime of life, she married John Denny, a Kentuckian and pioneer of Indiana, Illinois and finally of Oregon and Washington.
With this new alliance new fields of effort and usefulness opened before her. The unusual occurrence of a widowed mother and her two daughters marrying a widower and his two sons made this new tie exceeding strong. With them, as before stated, she crossed the plains and “pioneered it” in Oregon among the Waldo Hills, from whence she moved to Seattle on Puget Sound with her husband and little daughter, Loretta Denny, in 1859.
The shadow of pioneer days was scarcely receding, the place was a little straggling village and much remained of beginnings. As before in all other places, her busy hands found much to do; many a pair of warm stockings and mittens from her swift needles found their way into the possession of the numerous grand and great-grandchildren. In peaceful latter days she sat in a cozy corner with knitting basket at hand, her Bible in easy reach.
Her mind was clear and vigorous and she enjoyed reading and conversing upon topics old and new.
Her cottage home with its blooming plants, of which “Grandmother’s calla,” with its frequent, huge, snowy spathes, was much admired, outside the graceful laburnum tree and sweet-scented roses, was a place that became a Mecca to the tired feet and weary hearts of her kins-folk and acquaintances.
With devoted, filial affection her youngest daughter, S. Loretta Denny, remained with her until she entered into rest, February 10th, 1888.
David Thomas Denny was the first of the name to set foot upon the shores of Puget Sound. Born in Putnam County, Indiana, March 17th, 1832, he was nineteen years of age when he crossed the plains with his father’s company in 1851. He is a descendant of an ancient family, English and Scotch, who moved to Ireland and thence to America, settling in Berk’s County, Pa. His father was John Denny, a notable man in his time, a soldier of 1812, and a volunteer under William Henry Harrison.
The long, rough and toilsome journey across the plains was a schooling for the subsequent trials of pioneer life. Young as he was, he stood in the very forefront, the outmost skirmish line of his advancing detachment of the great army moving West. The anxious watch, the roughest toil, the reconnaissance fell to his lot. He drove a four-horse team, stood guard at night, alternately sleeping on the ground, under the wagon, hunted for game to aid in their sustenance, and, briefly, served his company in many ways with the energy and faithfulness which characterized his subsequent career.
With his party he reached Portland in August, 1851; from thence, with J. N. Low, he made his way to Olympia on Puget Sound, where he arrived footsore and weary, they having traveled on foot the Hudson Bay Company’s trail from the Columbia River. From Olympia, with Low, Lee Terry, Captain Fay and others, he journeyed in an open boat to Duwampsh Head, which has suffered many changes of name, where they camped, sleeping under the boughs of a great cedar tree the first night, September 25th, 1851.
The next day Denny, Terry and Low made use of the skill and knowledge of the native inhabitants by hiring two young Indians to take them up the Duwampsh River in their canoe. He was left to spend the following night with the two Indians, as his companions had wandered so far away that they could not return, but remained at an Indian camp farther up the river. On the 28th they were reunited and returned to their first camp, from which they removed the same day to Alki Point.
A cabin was commenced and after a time, Low and Terry returned to Portland, leaving David Thomas Denny, nineteen years of age, the only white person on Elliott Bay. There were then swarms of Indians on the Sound.
For three weeks he held this outpost of civilization, a part of the time being far from well. So impressed was he with the defenselessness of the situation that he expressed himself as “sorry” when his friends landed from the schooner “Exact” at Alki Point on the 13th of November, 1851. No doubt realizing that an irretrievable step had been taken, he tried to reassure them by explaining that “the cabin was unfinished and that they would not be comfortable.” Many incidents of his early experience are recorded in this volume elsewhere.
He was married on the 23rd of January, 1853, to Miss Louisa Boren, one of the most intelligent, courageous and devoted of pioneer women. They were the first white couple married in Seattle. He was an explorer of the eastern side of Elliott Bay, but was detained at home in the cabin by lameness occasioned by a cut on his foot, when A. A. Denny, W. N. Bell and C. D. Boren took their claims, so had fourth choice.
For this reason his claim awaited the growth of the town of Seattle many years, but finally became very valuable.
It was early discovered by the settlers that he was a conscientious man; so well established was this fact that he was known by the sobriquet of “Honest Dave.”
Like all the other pioneers, he turned his hand to any useful thing that was available, cutting and hewing timber for export, clearing a farm, hauling wood, tending cattle, anything honorable; being an advocate of total abstinence and prohibition, he never kept a saloon.
He has done all in his power to discountenance the sale and use of intoxicants, the baleful effects of which were manifest among both whites and Indians.
Every movement in the early days seems to have been fraught with danger. D. T. Denny traveled in a canoe with two Indians from the Seattle settlement in July, 1852, to Bush’s Prairie, back of Olympia, to purchase cattle for A. A. Denny, carrying two hundred dollars in gold for that purpose. He risked his life in so doing, as he afterward learned that the Indians thought of killing him and taking the money, but for some unknown reason decided not to do the deed.
He was a volunteer during the Indian war of 1855-6, in Company C, and with his company was not far distant when Lieut. Slaughter was killed, with several others. Those who survived the attack were rescued by this company.
On the morning of the battle of Seattle, he was standing guard near Fort Decatur; the most thrilling moment of the day to him was probably that in which he helped his wife and child into the fort as they fled from the Indians.
Although obliged to fight the Indians in self-defense in their warlike moods, yet he was ever their true friend and esteemed by them as such. He learned to speak the native tongue fluently, in such manner as to be able to converse with all the neighboring tribes, and unnumbered times, through years of disappointment, sorrow and trouble, they sought his advice and sympathy.
For a quarter of a century the hand-to-hand struggle went on by the pioneer and his family, to conquer the wilds, win a subsistence and obtain education.
By thrift and enterprise they attained independence, and as they went along helped to lay the foundations of many institutions and enterprises of which the commonwealth is now justly proud.
David Thomas Denny possessed the gifts and abilities of a typical pioneer; a good shot, his trusty rifle provided welcome articles of food; he could make, mend and invent useful and necessary things for pioneer work; it was a day, in fact, when “Adam delved” and “Eve” did likewise, and no man was too fine a “gentleman” to do any sort of work that was required.
Having the confidence of the community, he was called upon to fill many positions of trust; he was a member of the first Board of Trustees of Seattle, Treasurer of King County, Regent of the Territorial University, Probate Judge, School Director, etc., etc.
Although a Republican and an abolitionist, he did not consider every Democrat a traitor, and thereby incurred the enmity of some. Party feeling ran high.
At that time (during the Rebellion) there stood on Pioneer Place in Seattle a very tall flagstaff. Upon the death of a prominent Democrat it was proposed to half-mast the flag on this staff, but during the night the halyards were cut, it was supposed by a woman, at the instigation of her husband and others, but the friends of the deceased hired “Billie” Fife, a well-known cartoonist and painter, to climb to the top and rig a new rope, a fine sailor feat, for which he received twenty dollars.
The first organizer of Good Templar Lodges was entertained at Mr. Denny’s house, and he, with several of the family, became charter members of the first organization on October 4th, 1866. He was the first chaplain of the first lodge of I. O. G. T. organized in Seattle.
In after years the subject of this sketch became prominent in the Prohibition movement; it was suggested to him at one time that he permit his name to be used as Prohibition candidate for Governor of the State of Washington, but the suggestion was never carried out. He would have considered it an honor to be defeated in a good cause.
He also became a warm advocate of equal suffrage, and at both New York and Omaha M. E. general conferences he heartily favored the admission of women lay delegates, and much regretted the adverse decision by those in authority.
The old pioneers were and are generally broad, liberal and progressive in their ideas and principles; they found room and opportunity to think and act with more freedom than in the older centers of civilization, consequently along every line they are in the forefront of modern thought.
For its commercial development, Seattle owes much to David Thomas Denny, and others like him, in perhaps a lesser degree. In the days of small beginnings, he recognized the possibilities of development in the little town so fortunately located. His hard-earned wealth, energy and talents have been freely given to make the city of the present as well as that which it will be.
D. T. Denny made a valuable gift to the city of Seattle in a plot of land in the heart of the best residence portion of the city. Many years ago it was used as a cemetery, but was afterward vacated and is now a park. He landed on the site of Seattle with twenty-five cents in his pocket. His acquirement of wealth after years of honest work was estimated at three million.
Not only his property, money, thought and energy have gone into the building up of Seattle, but hundreds of people, newly arrived, have occupied his time in asking information and advice in regard to their settling in the West.
He was president of the first street railway company of Seattle, and afterward spent thousands of dollars on a large portion of the system of cable and electric roads of which the citizens of Seattle are wont to boast, unknowing, careless or forgetting that what is their daily convenience impoverished those who built, equipped and operated them. He and his company owned and operated for a time the Consolidated Electric road to North Seattle, Cedar Street and Green Lake; the cable road to Queen Anne Hill, and built and equipped the “Third Street and Suburban” electric road to the University and Ravenna Park.
The building and furnishing of a large sawmill with the most approved modern machinery, the establishing of an electric light plant, furnishing a water supply to a part of the city, and in many other enterprises he was actively engaged.
For many years he paid into the public treasury thousands of dollars for taxes on his unimproved, unproductive real estate, a considerable portion of which was unjustly required and exacted, as it was impossible to have sold the property at its assessed valuation. As one old settler said, he paid “robber taxes.”
When, in the great financial panic that swept over the country in 1893, he obtained a loan of the city treasurer and mortgaged to secure it real estate worth at least three times the sum borrowed, the mob cried out against him and sent out his name as one who had robbed the city, forsooth!
This was not the only occasion when the canaille expressed their disapproval.
Previous to, and during the anti-Chinese riot in Seattle, which occurred on Sunday, February 7th, 1886, he received a considerable amount of offensive attention. In the dark district of Seattle, there gathered one day a forerunner of the greater mob which created so much disturbance, howling that they would burn him out. “We’ll burn his barn,” they yelled, their provocation being that he employed Chinese house servants and rented ground to Mongolian gardeners. The writer remembers that it was a fine garden, in an excellent state of cultivation. No doubt many of the agitators themselves had partaken of the products thereof many times, it being one of the chief sources of supply of the city.
The threats were so loud and bitter against the friends of the Chinese that it was felt necessary to post a guard at his residence. The eldest son was in Oregon, attending the law school of the University; the next one, D. Thos. Denny, Jr., not yet of age, served in the militia during the riot; the third and youngest remained at home ready to help defend the same. The outlook was dark, but after some serious remarks concerning the condition of things, Mr. Denny went up stairs and brought down his Winchester rifle, stood it in a near corner and calmly resumed his reading. As he had dealt with savages before, he stood his ground. At a notorious trial of white men for unprovoked murder of Chinese, it was brought out that “Mr. David Denny, he ‘fliend’ (friend) of Chinese, Injun and Nigger.”
During the time that his great business called for the employment of a large force of men, he was uniformly kind to them, paying the highest market price for their labor. Some were faithful and honest, some were not; instead of its being a case of “greedy millionaire,” it was a case of just the opposite thing, as it was well known that he was robbed time and again by dishonest employes.
When urged to close down his mill, as it was running behind, he said “I can’t do it, it will throw a hundred men out of employment and their families will suffer.” So he borrowed money, paying a ruinous rate of interest, and kept on, hoping that business would improve; it did not and the mill finally went under. A good many employes who received the highest wages for the shortest hours, struck for more, and others were full of rage when the end came and there were only a few dollars due on their wages.
Neither was he a “heartless landlord,” the heartlessness was on the other side, as numbers of persons sneaked off without paying their rent, and many built houses, the lumber in which was never paid for.
According to their code it was not stealing to rob a person supposed to be wealthy.
The common remark was, “Old Denny can stand it, he’s got lots of money.”
The anarchist-communistic element displayed their strength and venom in many ways in those days. They heaped abuse on those, who unfortunately for themselves, employed men, and bit the hand that fed them.
Their cry was “Death to Capitalists!” They declared their intention at one time of hanging the leading business men of Seattle, breaking the vaults of the bank open, burning the records and dividing lands and money among themselves. But the reign of martial law at the culmination of their heroic efforts in the Anti-Chinese riot, brought them to their senses, the history of which period may be told in another chapter.
From early youth, David Thomas Denny was a faithful member of the M. E. Church, serving often in official capacity and rendering valuable assistance, with voice, hand and pocketbook. Twice he was sent as lay delegate to the General Conference, a notable body of representative men, of which he was a member in 1888 and again in 1892.
The conference of 1888 met in New York City and held its sessions at the Metropolitan Opera House. His family accompanied him, crossing the continent by the Canadian Pacific R. R. by way of Montreal to New York.
In the latter place, they met their first great sorrow, in the death, after a brief illness, of the beloved youngest daughter, the return and her burial in her native land by the sundown seas. Soon followed other days of sadness and trial; in less than a year, the second daughter, born in Fort Decatur, passed away, and others of the family, hovered on the brink of the grave, but happily were restored.
Loss of fortune followed loss of friends as time went on, but these storms passed and calm returned. He went steadfastly on, confident of the rest that awaits the people of God.
At the age of sixty-seven he was wide awake, alert and capable of enduring hardships, no doubt partly owing to a temperate life. In late years he interested himself in mining and was hopeful of his own and his friends’ future, and that of the state he helped to found.
While sojourning in the Cascade Mountains in 1891, David T. Denny wrote the following:
“Ptarmigan Park: On Sept. 25th, 1851, just forty years ago, Leander Terry, an older brother of C. C. Terry, John N. Low and I, landed on what has since been known as Freeport Point, now West Seattle. We found Chief Sealth with his tribe stopping on the beach and fishing for salmon—a quiet, dignified man was Sealth.
“We camped on the Point and slept under a large cedar tree, and the next morning hired a couple of young Indians to take us up the Duwampsh River; stayed one night at the place which was afterward taken for a claim by E. B. Maple, then returned and camped one night at our former place on the Point; then on the morning of the 28th of September went around to Alki Point and put down the foundation of the first cabin started in what is now King County. Looking out over Elliott Bay at that time the site where Seattle now stands, was an unbroken forest with no mark made by the hand of man except a little log fort made by the Indians, standing near the corner of Commercial and Mill Streets.
“Since that day we have had our Indian war, the Crimean war has been fought, the war between Prussia and Austria, that between France and Prussia, the great Southern Rebellion and many smaller wars.
“Then to think of the wonderful achievements in the use of electricity and the end is not yet.
“I should like to live another forty years just to see the growth of the Sound country, if nothing else. I fully believe it is destined to be the most densely populated and wealthiest of the United States. One thing that leads me to this conclusion is the evidence of a large aboriginal population which subsisted on the natural productions of the land and water. Reasoning by comparison, what a vast multitude can be supported by an intelligent use of the varied resources of the country and the world to draw from besides.”
And again he wrote:
“Ptarmigan Park, Sept. 28th, 1891: Just forty years ago yesterday, J. N. Low, Lee Terry and myself laid the foundation of the first cabin started in what is now King County, Washington, then Thurston County, Oregon Territory.
“Vast have been the changes since that day.
“Looking back it does not seem so very long ago and yet children born since that have grown to maturity, married, and reared families.
“Many of those who came to Elliott Bay are long since gone to their last home. Lee Terry has been dead thirty-five years, Capt. Robert Fay, twenty or more years, and J. N. Low over two years, in fact most of the early settlers have passed away: John Buckley and wife, Jacob Maple, S. A. Maple, Wm. N. Bell and wife, C. C. Terry and wife, A. Terry, L. M. Collins and wife, Mrs. Kate Butler, E. Hanford, Mother Holgate, John Holgate and many others. If they could return to Seattle now they would not know the place, and yet had it not been for various hindrances, the Indian war, the opposition of the N. P. R. R. and the great fire, Seattle would be much larger than it now is, the country would be much more developed and we would have a larger rural population.
“However, from this time forward, I fully believe the process of development will move steadily on, especially do I believe that we are just commencing the development of the mineral resources of the country. Undoubtedly there has been more prospecting for the precious metals during 1891 than ever before all put together.
“In the Silver Creek region there has been, probably, six hundred claims taken and from all accounts the outlook is very favorable. Also from Cle Elum and Swauk we have glowing accounts.
“In the Ptarmigan Park district about fifty claims have been taken, a large amount of development work done and some very fine samples of ore taken out.”
(Signed) D. T. Denny.
In the Seattle Daily Times of September 25th, 1901.
“JUST FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY.
“On September 25, 1851, Mr. D. T. Denny, Now Living in This City, Was Greeted on the Shores of Elliott Bay by Chief Seattle.
“Fifty years ago today, the first white settlers set foot in King County.
“Fifty years ago today, a little band of pioneers rounded Alki Point and grounded their boat at West Seattle. Chief Seattle stalked majestically down the beach and greeted them in his characteristic way. During the ensuing week they were guests of a Western sachem, the king of Puget Sound waters, and never were white men more royally entertained.
“At that time Chief Seattle was at the height of his popularity. With a band of five hundred braves behind him, he stood in a position to command the respect of all wandering tribes and of the first few white men, whose heart-hungering and restlessness had driven them from the civilization of the East, across the plains of the Middle West, to the shores of the Pacific.
“As Mr. Denny is essentially the premier of this country, it would not be out of order to give a glimpse of his early history. He is the true type of pioneer. Although he is somewhat bent with age, and his hair is white with the snows of many winters, nevertheless, he still shows signs of that ruggedness that was with him in the early Western days of his youth. Not only is he a pioneer, but he came from a family of pioneers. Years and years ago his ancestors crossed the Atlantic and landed on the Atlantic coast. Not satisfied with the prevailing conditions there, they began to push westward, settling in what is now Pennsylvania. As the country became opened up and settled, this Denny family of hardy pioneers again turned their faces to the westward sun, and this time Indiana made them a home, and still later Illinois.”
THE START WESTWARD.
It was in the latter state that Mr. D. T. Denny and his brother first began to hear stories of the Willamette valley. Wonderful tales were being carried across the plains of the fertility of the land around the Columbia River and the spirit of restlessness that had been characteristic of their ancestors began to tell upon them, and after reading all they could find of this practically unknown wilderness, they bade farewell to their Illinois friends, and started off across the plains.
The start was made on the 10th day of April, 1851, from Knox County, Illinois. D. T. Denny was accompanied by his older brother A. A. Denny, and family. They drove two four-horse teams, and a two-horse wagon, and ten days after the start had been made they crossed the Missouri River. The fourth of July, 1851, found them at Fort Hall on Snake River, Montana, an old Hudson Bay trading station. On the 11th day of August, they reached The Dalles, Oregon, and there, after a brief consultation, they decided to separate.
Mr. A. A. Denny here shipped the wagons and his family down the river on some small vessel they were fortunate enough to find there, while Mr. D. T. Denny took the horses and pushed over the Cascade Mountains. He followed what was then known as the old Barlow road and reached Portland on the 17th day of August.
They decided to stay in Portland for a few days, until they could learn more about the country than they then knew, and it was in that city that the subject of this sketch worked his first day for money. He helped Thomas Carter unload a brig that had reached port from Boston, receiving the sum of three dollars for his labors, and it was the “biggest three dollars he ever earned in his life,” so he said.
While at Portland they began to hear stories of Puget Sound, and after a brief consultation, the Denny brothers and Mr. John N. Low, who had also made the journey across the plains, decided to investigate the country that now lies around the Queen City of the West.
OFF FOR ELLIOTT BAY.
As A. A. Denny had his family to look after, it was decided that Mr. Low and D. T. Denny would make the trip, and as a consequence, on the 10th day of September they ferried Low’s stock across the river to what was then Fort Vancouver. From there they followed the Hudson Bay trail to the Cowlitz River, and up the Cowlitz to Ford’s Prairie. Leaving their stock there for a short time, they pushed on to Olympia, now the capital of the state.
When they reached Olympia they found Capt. R. C. Fay and George M. Martin on the point of leaving down Sound to fish for salmon, and Messrs. Low, Denny and Terry arranged to come as far as the Duwamish River with them. The start was made. There was no fluttering of flags nor booming of cannon such as marked the departure of Columbus when he left for a new country, and in fact this little band of men, in an open boat, little dreamed that they would ultimately land within a stone’s throw of what was destined to become one of the greatest cities in the West.
Fifty years ago today they camped with Chief Seattle on the promontory across the bay. They slept that night under the protecting branches of a cedar tree, and on the morning of the 26th they hired two of Seattle’s braves to paddle them up the river in a dugout canoe. They spent that day in looking over the river bottoms, where are now situated the towns of Maple Prairie and Van Asselt. There were no settlements there then, and nothing but giant pines and firs greeted their gaze for miles. It was a wonderful sight to these hardy Eastern men, and as they wished to know something more of the country, Messrs. Low and Terry decided to leave the canoe and depart on a short tour of exploration. One, two and three hours passed and they failed to put in an appearance. In vain did Mr. Denny fire his gun, and yell himself hoarse, but he was compelled to spend the night in the wilderness with the two Indians.
DECIDED TO LOCATE.
The next day, however, or to be explicit, on the 27th of September, he was gratified at the appearance of his friends on the river bank. They had become lost the night before, and falling in with a band of Indians, had spent the night with them. Having seen enough of the country to become convinced that it was the place for them, they returned to what is now West Seattle for the night. After the sun had disappeared behind the Olympics, they heard a scow passing the point, which afterwards they found contained L. M. Collins and family, who had pushed on up the river and settled on the banks of the Duwamish.
On the morning of the 28th they decided to take up claims back of Alki point, and on that day started to lay the foundation of the first cabin in King county. Having decided to settle on Elliott bay, Mr. Low determined to return to Portland for his family, whereupon Mr. Denny wrote the following letter to his brother and sent it with him:
“We have examined the valley of the Duwamish river and find it a fine country. There is plenty of room for one thousand settlers. Come on at once.”
By the time Mr. Low had reached Portland, William Bell and C. D. Boren had also become interested in the Puget Sound district, and therefore Messrs. Low, Denny, Bell and Boren, with their families, hired a schooner to take them down the Columbia, up on the outside, in through the Strait, and up the Sound to Alki, reaching the latter point on the 13th of November, 1851.
In speaking of those early pioneer days, Mr. Denny said:
“We built up quite a settlement over on Alki, and the Indians of course came and settled around us. No, we were not molested to any great extent. I remember that on one night, our women folks missed a lot of clothing they had hung out to dry, and I at once went to their big chief and told him what had happened. In a very short time not only were the missing articles returned to us, but a lot that we didn’t know were gone.”
WHISKY CAUSED TROUBLE.
“In those early days, in all my experience with Indians, I have always found them peaceable enough as long as they left whisky alone. Of course we had trouble with them, but it was always due to the introduction of the white man’s firewater, which has been more than a curse to the red man.
“When we reached here, the Indians were more advanced than one would have naturally supposed. We were able to buy berries, fish and game of them, and potatoes also. Great fine tubers they were too, much better than any we had ever been able to raise back in Illinois. In fact I don’t know what we would have done during the first two winters had it not been for the Indians.
“But talk about game,” he continued, a glow coming to his face as the old scenes were brought up to him, “why, I have seen the waters of Elliott Bay fairly black with ducks. Deer and bear were plentiful then and this was a perfect paradise for the man with a rod or gun. Never, I am sure, was there a country in which it was so easy to live as it was in the Puget Sound district fifty years ago.”
“In coming across the plains, Mr. Denny, were you attacked by Indians, or have any adventures out of the ordinary?” was asked.
“Well,” said he meditatively, “we did have one little brush that might have ended with the loss of all our lives. It was just after leaving Fort Hall, in Montana. We had come up to what I think was called the American Falls. While quite a distance away we noticed the water just below the falls was black, with what we supposed were ducks, but as we drew nearer we saw they were Indians swimming across with one hand and holding their guns high in the air with the other. We turned off slightly and started down the trail at a rattling rate. We had not gone far when a big chief stepped up on the bank. He was dressed mainly in a tall plug hat and a gun, and he shouted, ‘How do, how do, stop, stop!’ Well, we didn’t, and after repeating his question he dropped behind the sage brush and opened fire.
“My brother lay in my wagon sick with mountain fever, and that, of course, materially reduced our fighting force. Had they succeeded in shooting down one of our horses, it would, of course, have been the end of us, but fortunately they did not and we at last escaped them. No, no one was wounded, but it was the worst scrape I ever had with the Indians, and I hope I will never have to go through a similar experience again. It isn’t pleasant to be shot at, even by an Indian.”
RECOGNIZED THE SPOT.
“In 1892,” said Mr. Denny, “I went East over the Great Northern. I was thinking of my first experience in Montana when I reached that state, when all of a sudden we rounded a curve and passed below the falls. I knew them in a minute, and instantly those old scenes and trying times came back to me in a way that was altogether too realistic for comfort. No, I have not been back since.
“Mr. Prosch, Mr. Ward and myself,” continued this old pioneer, “had intended to take our families over to Alki today and hold a sort of a picnic in honor of what happened fifty years ago, but of course my sickness has prevented us from doing so. I don’t suppose we will be here to celebrate the event at the end of another fifty years, and I should have liked to have gone today. Instead, I suppose I shall sit here and think of what I saw and heard at Alki Point just fifty years ago. I can live it over again, in memories at least.
“Now, young man,” concluded Mr. Denny, not unkindly, “please get the names of those early pioneers and the dates right. A Seattle paper published a bit of this history a few days ago, and they got everything all mixed up. This is the story, and should be written right, because if it isn’t, the story becomes valueless. I dislike very much to have the stories and events of those early days misstated and misrepresented.”
In 1899, Mr. Denny had the arduous task of personally superintending the improvement of the old Snoqualmie road around the shore of Lake Kichelas and on for miles through the mountains, building and repairing bridges, making corduroy, blasting out rocks, changing the route at times; after much patient effort and endurance of discomfort and hardship, he left it much improved, for which many a weary way-farer would be grateful did they but know. In value the work was far beyond the remuneration he received.
During the time he was so occupied he had a narrow escape from death by an accident, the glancing of a double-bitted ax in the hands of a too energetic workman; it struck him between the eyes, inflicting a wound which bled alarmingly, but finally was successfully closed.
The next year he camped at Lake Kichelas in the interests of a mining company, and incidentally enjoyed some fishing and prospecting. It was the last time he visited the mountains.
Gradually some maladies which had haunted him for years increased. As long as he could he exerted himself in helping his family, especially in preparing the site for a new home. He soon after became a great sufferer for several years, struggling against his infirmities, in all exhibiting great fortitude and patience.
His mind was clear to the last and he was able to converse, to read and to give sound and admirable advice and opinions.
Almost to the last day of his life he took interest in the progress of the nation and of the world, following the great movements with absorbing interest.
He expressed a desire to see his friends earnest Christians, his own willingness to leave earthly scenes and his faith in Jesus.
So he lived and thus he died, passing away on the morning of November 25th, 1903, in the seventy-second year of his age.
He was a great pioneer, a mighty force, commercial, moral and religious, in the foundation-building of the Northwest.
In a set of resolutions presented by the Pioneer Association of the State of Washington occur these words: “The record of no citizen was ever marked more distinctly by acts of probity, integrity and general worth than that of Mr. D. T. Denny, endearing him to all the people and causing them to regard him with the utmost esteem and favor.”
On the morning of November 26th, 1903, there appeared in the Post-Intelligencer, the following:
“David Thomas Denny, who came to the site of Seattle in 1851, the first of his name on Puget Sound, died at his home, a mile north of Green Lake, at 3:36 yesterday morning. All the members of his family, including John Denny, who arrived the day before from Alaska, were at the bedside. Until half an hour before he passed away Mr. Denny was conscious, and engaged those about him in conversation.”
MARRIED IN A CABIN.
The story of the early life of the Denny brothers tallies very nearly with the history of Seattle. Mr. and Mrs. David Denny were married in a cabin on the north end of A. A. Denny’s claim near the foot of Lenora street, January 23, 1853. The next morning the couple moved to their own cabin—built by the husband’s hands—at the foot of what is now Denny Way. The moving was accomplished in a canoe.
Though they professed a great respect for David Denny, the Indians were numerous and never very reliable. In a year or two, therefore, the family moved up nearer the sawmill and little settlement which had grown up near the foot of Cherry street. D. T. Denny had meanwhile staked out a very large portion of what is now North Seattle—a plat of three hundred and twenty acres. Later he made seven additions to the city of Seattle from this claim. In 1857 it was a wilderness of thick brush, but the pioneer moved his family to his farm on the present site of Recreation park in that year. The Indian war had occurred the winter before and the red men were quiet, having received a lesson from the blue jackets which were landed from the United States gunboat Decatur.
Three or four years later the family moved to a cottage at the corner of Second avenue and Seneca street. In the early ’70s they moved to the large home at the corner of Dexter and Republican streets, where the children grew up. In 1890 the family took possession of the large house standing on Queen Anne avenue, known as the Denny home, which was occupied by the family until a few years ago, when they moved to Fremont and later to the house where Mr. Denny died, in Licton Park, some distance north of Green Lake.
Until about ten years ago David T. Denny was considered the wealthiest man in Seattle. His large property in the north end of the city had been the source of more and more revenue as the town grew. When the needs of the town became those of a big city he hastened to supply them with energy and money. His mill on the shores of Lake Union was the largest in the city, when Seattle was first known as a milling town. The establishment of an electric light plant and a water supply to a part of the city were among the enterprises which he headed.
The cable and horse car roads were consolidated into a company headed by D. T. Denny more than a decade ago. In the effort to supply the company with the necessary funds Mr. Denny attempted to convert much of his property into cash. At that time an estimate of his resources was made by a close personal friend, who yesterday said that the amount was considerably over three million dollars, which included his valuable stock in the traction companies. In the hard times of ’93 Mr. Denny was unable to realize the apparent value of his property, and a considerable reduction of his fortune was a result. Since then he has been to a great extent engaged in mining in the Cascade mountains, and for the past three years has been closely confined to his home by a serious illness.
Among the gifts of D. T. Denny to the city of Seattle is Denny Park. Denny Way, the Denny school and other public places in Seattle bear his name. D. T. Denny was a liberal Republican always. He was at one time a member of the board of regents of the territorial university, the first treasurer of King county, probate judge for two years and for twelve years a school director of District No. 1, comprising the city of Seattle.
Several of those who were associated with David T. Denny during the time when he was in active business and a strong factor in local affairs have offered estimates of his character and of the part he took in the founding and building of the city. Said Col. William T. Prosser:
“It is sad to think that David T. Denny will no more be seen upon the streets of the city he assisted in founding more than fifty years ago. During all that time he was closely identified with its varying periods of danger, delayed hopes and bitter disappointments, as well as those of marvelous growth, activity and prosperity. The changing features of the city were reflected in his own personal history. The waves of prosperity and adversity both swept over him, yet throughout his entire career he always maintained his integrity and through it all he bore himself as an energetic and patriotic citizen and as a Christian gentleman.”
Judge Thomas Burke:
“D. T. Denny had great faith in Seattle, and his salient characteristic was his readiness in pushing forward its welfare. I remember him having an irreproachable character—honest, just in all his dealings and strong in his spirit. In illustration of his strong feeling on the temperance question I remember that he embodied a clause in the early deeds of the property which he sold to the effect that no intoxicating liquors were to be sold upon the premises. Yes, he was a good citizen.”
Charles A. Prosch:
“Although Mr. Denny’s later years were clouded by financial troubles, reverses did not soil his spirit nor change his integrity. He was progressive to the last and one of the most upright men I know.”
D. B. Ward:
“I first met David Denny in 1859 and I have known him more or less intimately ever since. I know him to have possessed strict integrity, unswerving purpose and cordial hospitality. My first dinner in Seattle was eaten at his home—where a baked salmon fresh from the Sound was an oddity to me. His financial troubles some years ago grew out of his undaunted public spirit. He was president of the first consolidated street car system here, and in his efforts to support it most of his property was confiscated. I knew him for a strong, able man.”