Denny Emily Inez
Blazing the Way; Or, True Stories, Songs and Sketches of Puget Sound
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.
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.