Blazing The Way Part 16

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

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

"From Olympia to Seattle we traveled by Indian canoe. I remember distinctly rounding Alki Point and entering the harbor of Elliott Bay. I saw what was, perhaps, the first house that was built, where now stands the magnificent city of Seattle. This was a cabin that was being erected on a narrow strip of land jutting out into the bay, which is now right in the heart of Seattle. Dr.

Maynard was the builder. It was situated adjoining the lot at Commercial and Main Streets, occupied by the old Arlington just before the fire of 1889. The waters of the Sound lapped the sh.o.r.es of the narrow peninsula upon which it was built, but since then the waters have been driven back by the filling of earth, sawdust and rock, which was put on both sides of the little neck of land.

"After a few days' stay here, Peabody and I journeyed by Indian canoe to Whatcom. We carried our canoe overland to Hood Ca.n.a.l. On the second day out we encountered a terrible storm and put into shelter with a settler on the sh.o.r.e of the ca.n.a.l. His name was O'Haver, and he lived with an Indian wife. We had white turnips and dried salmon for breakfast and dried salmon and white turnips for dinner. This bill of fare was repeated in this fashion for three days, and I want to tell you that we were glad when the weather moderated and we were enabled to proceed.

"We were told that we could procure something in the edible line at Port Townsend, but were disappointed. The best we could obtain at the stores was some hard bread, in which the worms had propagated in luxuriant fashion. This food was not so particularly appetizing, as you may imagine. A settler kindly took pity on us and shared his slender stock of food. Thence we journeyed to Whatcom, where I have resided nearly ever since."

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

"I was going at a leisurely gait over the mountain road or bridle path that led from Marysville to Rush Creek," said Capt. Roeder.

"Suddenly, after a bend in the road, I found myself in the midst of a band of men mounted on bronchos. They were dark-skinned and of Spanish blood. Immediately I recognized Joaquin and 'Three-Fingered Jack,' his first lieutenant. My heart thumped vigorously, and I thought that it was all up with me. I managed somehow to control myself and did not evince any of the excitement I felt or give the outlaws any sign that I knew or suspected who they were.

"One of the riders, after saluting me in Spanish, asked me where I was from and whither I was traveling. I told them freely and frankly, as if the occurrence were an everyday transaction.

Learning that I had just come from Marysville, the seat of their last outrage, they inquired the news. I told them the truth--that the camp was in a state of great excitement, due to the late visit of the outlaw, Joaquin, and his band; that the sheriff had been murdered and three or four miners and others in the vicinity had been murdered and robbed. It was Joaquin's pleasant practice to lariat a man, rob him and cut his throat, leaving the body by the roadside. They asked me which way Joaquin had gone and I told them that he was seen last traveling towards Arizona. As a matter of fact, the outlaw and his band were then traveling in a direction exactly opposite from that which I had given.

"My replies apparently pleased them. 'Three-Fingered Jack'

proposed a drink, after asking me which way I traveled. I said, 'I would have proposed the compliment long ago had I any in my canteen,' whereat Jack drew his own bottle and offered me a drink.

"You may imagine my feelings then. I knew that if they believed I had recognized them they would give me poison or kill me with a knife. I took the canteen and drank from it. You may imagine my joy when I saw Jack lift the bottle to his lips and drain it.

Then I knew that I had deceived them. We exchanged adieus in Spanish, and that is the last I saw of Joaquin and his a.s.sociate murderers."

PART II.

MEN, WOMEN AND ADVENTURES

CHAPTER I.

SONG OF THE PIONEERS.

With faith's clear eye we saw afar In western sky our empire's star And strong of heart and brave of soul, We marched and marched to reach the goal.

Unrolled a scroll, the great gray plains, And traced thereon our wagon trains, Our blazing campfires marked the road As each succeeding night they glowed.

Gaunt hunger, drouth, fierce heat and cold Beset us as in days of old Great dragons sought to swallow down Adventurous heroes of renown.

There menaced us our tawny foes, Where any bank or hillock rose; A cloud of dust or shadows' naught Seemed ever with some danger fraught.

Weird mountain ranges crossed our path And frowned on us in seeming wrath; Their beetling crags and icy brows Well might a hundred fears arouse.

Impetuous rivers swirled and boiled, As though from mischief ever foiled.

At length in safety all were crossed, Though roughly were our "schooners" tossed.

With joy we saw fair Puget Sound, White, glistening peaks set all around.

At Alki Point our feet we stayed, (The women wept, the children played).

On Chamber's prairie, Whidby's isle, Duwamish river, mile on mile Away from these, on lake or bay The lonely settlers blazed the way For civilization's march and sway.

The mountains, forests, bays and streams, Their grandeur wove into our dreams; Our thoughts grew great and undismayed, We toiled and sang or waiting, prayed.

As suns arose and then went down We gazed on Rainier's snowy crown.

G.o.d's battle-tents gleamed in the west, So pure they called our thoughts above To heaven's joy and peace and love.

We found a race tho' rude and wild, Still tender toward friend or child, For dark eyes laughed or shone with tears As joy or sorrow filled the years; Their black-eyed babes the red men kissed And captive brothers sorely missed.

With broken hearts, brown mothers wept When babes away by death were swept.

Chief Sealth stood the white man's friend, With insight keen he saw the end Of struggles vain against a foe Whose coming forced their overthrow.

For pity oft he freed the slaves, To reasoning cool he called his braves; But bitter wrongs the pale-face wrought-- Revenge and hatred on us brought.

With life the woods and waters teemed, A boundless store we never dreamed, Of berries, deer and grouse and fish, Sufficient for a gourmand's wish.

Our dusky neighbors friendly-wise Brought down the game before our eyes; They wiled the glittering finny tribe, Well pleased to trade with many a jibe.

We lit the forests far and wide With pitchwood torches, true and tried, We traveled far in frail canoes, Cayuses rode, wore Indian shoes, And clothes of skin, and ate clam stews, Clam frys and chowder; baked or fried The clam was then the settler's pride; "Clam-diggers" then, none dared deride.

A sound arose our hearts to thrill, From whirring saws in Yesler's mill; The village crept upon the hill.

On many hills our city's spread, As fair a queen as one that wed The Adriatic, so 'tis said.

Our tasks so hard are well nigh done-- Today our hearts will beat as one!

Each one may look now to the west For end of days declared the best, Since sunset here is sunrise there, Our heavenly home is far more fair.

As up the slope of coming years Time pushes on the pioneers, With peace may e'er our feet be shod And press at last the mount of G.o.d.

E. I. DENNY.

Seattle, June, 1893.

CHAPTER II.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES AND SKETCHES.

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, partic.i.p.ated in the celebrated battle of the Thames in Canada, where Tec.u.mseh 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.