The First Wedding in Seattle, Celebrated Forty-Two Years Later

Mr. and Mrs. David T. Denny last evening celebrated their forty-second wedding anniversary—and the anniversary of the first wedding in Seattle—at their home at “Decatur Terrace,” 812 Temperance Street, with a gathering of children, grandchildren, relatives and friends that represented four generations. One notable feature was the large gathering of pioneers, who collectively represented more years of residence in Seattle than had ever been found together before.

The occasion drew added interest from the historical fact that Mr. and Mrs. Denny were the first couple ever married in Seattle. The transition from the small, uncouth log cabin built forty-three years earlier by the young pioneer for his bride to the present beautiful residence, with all its modern conveniences, was the subject of many congratulations from friends who remembered the couple’s early trials and tribulations. All present were more or less connected with Seattle’s history, all knew one another’s history, and with children and grandchildren—and a two-year-old baby romping in the arms of an octogenarian—the gathering presented a colossal happy family.

Mr. Denny had not forgotten the old pioneer days. One corner of the reception room was made to represent a dinner table of the early 1850s: two boards across two boxes, a smoked salmon, a tin plate full of boiled potatoes, sea biscuits and a few clam shells. Such a meal, when it could be had, was supposed to be a feast. Other relics included a sixty-pound shot fired by the sloop-of-war Decatur among the Indians during the uprising; a ten-pound shot belonging to Dr. Maynard’s cannon; an old-fashioned hunter’s pouch, powder horn and powder measure; a pair of enormous elk horns belonging to an elk killed by Mr. Denny on September 7, 1869, in the woods northwest of Green Lake; the family’s first Bible, bought by Mr. Denny from a circuit preacher in 1854; an old-fashioned Indian halibut hook; and an old family Bible that had belonged to David T. Denny’s father, inscribed: “The property of J. Denny, Purchased of Mr. Strange, August the 10th, 1834. Price, 62 1-2 cents. Putnam County, Indiana.” There were also daguerreotypes of Mr. and Mrs. Denny from the early years of their married life.

A grandson, Harold Denny, addressed his grandparents on behalf of the assembly. Twenty-five young men, made up as Indians, presented a “Tamamis,” or council, headed by Captain D. T. Denny, who acted as chief. The band marched in Indian file, formed a circle, saluted, and the chief addressed their white chief, Denny, in the Chinook language, wishing Mr. and Mrs. Denny many returns of the auspicious occasion. Mr. Denny, who was quite adept in the Indian tongue, replied in the same language, thanking them for their good intentions and speaking of the happy relations that had existed between the whites and the Indians until bad white men and whiskey turned the minds of the Indians. The Indian band then gave an Indian song, and the council broke up.

Mr. Denny showed his marriage certificate to a reporter. It was written on heavy blue paper and had been so carefully preserved that the sight of its faded ink recalled the days when just a few houses were clustered on the shores of the bay. It certified that David Denny and Louisa Boren were joined in marriage at the house of Arthur A. Denny in King County, Washington Territory, by David Maynard, justice of the peace, on August 23, 1853.

The house of A. A. Denny, where the wedding was celebrated, was the first house built in Seattle. It stood at what is now Cherry and Front streets. In the spring of 1851, David T. Denny had located at Alki Point. After three or four months a trail was beaten between the three cabins. David lived with his brother, but he built himself a cabin before his marriage near the foot of Depot Street, near and north of Belltown. To this lonely cabin in the woods he took his bride and lived there until August, eking out an existence by cutting pilings for shipment, living on anyhow and everyhow, but always managing to have enough to eat, such as it was, with plenty of pure spring water. In August, 1853, he built a cabin on the spot where the Frye block stands and passed the winter of 1853 there. In the spring of 1854 he built another cabin farther east on his donation claim, east of what is now Boylston Street, between Mercer and Republican, and moved into it.

Mr. Denny had acquired a knowledge of the Indian dialects and through this learned much of the threatened outbreak. He moved his family back to the house on the Frye block site, which was near the stockade, or fort, that stood at the foot of Cherry Street, where the Kline Rosenberg building now stands. During the greater part of the winter of 1856 the women in the settlement lived in the fort, and Mrs. Denny passed much of her time there. After the Indian trouble was over the Dennys moved out again to their cabin. The Indians making the trouble were the Klickitats and another eastern tribe; the Sound Indians, the Duwamish and the Suquamish, were friendly and helped the settlers a great deal. Chief Seattle belonged to the Suquamish tribe, and his men gave the first warning of the approach of the hostile Indians. Chief Seattle was living where the New England Hotel now stands. The legend that Princess Angeline was instrumental by personal heroism in saving the white settlement from massacre was pronounced a myth by Mr. Denny.

Mr. and Mrs. Denny have had eight children, four daughters and four sons. One son died shortly after birth, and all the others grew to maturity, after which the father and mother mourned the loss of two daughters. Two daughters and three sons still survive: Miss Emily Inez, Mrs. Abbie D. Dinwiddie, Mr. John B. Denny, Mr. D. Thomas Denny and Mr. Victor W. S. Denny. The sons are all married, and nine out of ten grandchildren were present last evening. The absent members were Mrs. John B. Denny and baby, who were in New York on a visit.

“People in these days of modern improvements and plenty know nothing of the hardships the pioneer of forty years ago had to undergo right here,” said Mr. Denny. “Nearly forty years of life in a dense forest, surrounded by savages and wild beasts, with the kind of work necessary in order to eke out an existence, was the lot of every man and woman here. It was a life of privation, inconvenience, anxieties, fears and dangers without end, and required physical and mental strength to live it out. Of course we all had good health, for in twenty-four years’ time I only had a doctor four times. Our colony grew little by little; good men and bad men came in, and by the time the Indians wanted to massacre us we had about 300 white men, women and children. We got our provisions from ships that took our piles, and then they also furnished us with venison, fish, clams and wild fowl. Flour, sugar and coffee we got from San Francisco. When we could get no flour we went without bread and made a shift to live on potatoes.”

Mr. Denny recalled the winter of 1861-2 as about the coldest on record; during those cold spells the pioneers kept warm cutting wood. Mr. Denny will be 63 years old on March 1 and Mrs. Denny 65 on May 1.