D. C. BEATTY
David Crane Beatty and his wife, Mary Thompson
Beatty, have made Olympia their home for almost 65 years. Sometimes venturing
their fortunes in other places, sometimes farming in the County near, once
leaving Washington entirely, but always coming back to the scene of their
youthful prime and vigor, and now as the shadows gather and the sun of their
lives sinks low in the West, their only hope or thought is to take their final
rest near the place that has spelled home to this devoted couple for well over
the half century mark.
Mr. Beatty first saw the light of day in
Champaign County, Ohio, the year of his birth being 1828. When nine years of age
his parents took their eleven children and went to Illinois, where they settled
for a good many years. Here the young David grew to manhood and learned the
trade of cabinet making. He was of rather delicate health, however, and realized
that a complete change of climate was advisable, so decided to take the famous
advise and "Go West." The start was made from New York on December 16, 1852.
The young man took passage on the old steamer
Brother Jonathan to Panama. One of the excitements of the trip was the almost
daily occurrence of fire on the boat. Only the oldest and most unseaworthy of
water craft was then used to bring those foolhardy enough to seek what was
considered an imaginary fortune in the almost unknown West.
From San Francisco Mr. Beatty came on to
Portland, Oregon, his steamer this time being the Fremont, well remembered by
pioneer emigrants. Portland was then a village, in the woods on the Willamette
River, of probably two business blocks and a few scattered houses. The Winter
months were spent there, but when Spring came and tales began to reach the
Oregon town of opportunities for business openings in the Sound country, which
was just beginning to attract the emigrants' attention, Beatty, whose health was
still poor, decided to join a party of young men and take the venture.
Sixteen stalwart young men were in the party
with which the young man east his fortune. All that Mr. Beatty can remember the
names of at this late day are Tom Prather, four Hays brothers and Edmund Carr.
The trip was made up the Cowlitz River in
Indian canoes to the lower landing. Here the boys took the Indian trail up the
river through brush so dense that many times the only possible way to get along
was by crawling on their knees. When Jackson's place was reached the men were
served a breakfast that, even after the lapse of these many years, remains fresh
in Mr. Beatty's memory.
About noon the party came out on Scatter Creek.
They were almost famished by this time, and were delighted to find a shack
standing there in the wilderness. The owner was not around, but the door was
unlocked, so they went in and searched for something to satisfy their hunger.
Edmund Can- was the first to reach the rude cupboard and opened the door. Mother
Hubbard's cupboard must have been a close connection to this one, for the only
eatable the hungry young1 men could find was one cold potato on a tin plate. As
this potato was only about the size of a walnut Carr appropriated it for
himself. There was nothing else in all the cabin to eat, so the men had to push
on to the next stopping place. Carr then called his friend Beatty aside and,
dividing the diminutive potato exactly in half, gave one portion to him. eating
the other himself. This was among the many acts of generosity and brotherly love
that were related to the compiler of these reminiscences that made the work one
of the most delightful and inspiring experiences of her life.
As evening approached, the party of adventurers
reached Bush's, where a good supper was served them and permission given the
boys to roll up in their blankets on the floor of the shack, which permission
was gladly accepted. In the morning the march was completed by the arrival at
Tumwater. There was only the stringers of a bridge then across the Des Chutes
River at this place, the crossing having been made heretofore by Indian canoes.
Horses and cattle were generally taken to Tenalquot Prairie, where there was a
safe ford. This bridge, under construction, was being built by Ira Ward, the
pioneer millman of Puget Sound. The young men, single file, walked the square
timbers across the river, so reaching Tumwater. Mr. Beatty's eyes grew dim as he
mused. "I can see them yet, sixteen as fine young men as were ever to be seen,
filing across that river which flowed swiftly beneath the single stick of
timber. Of that goodly party only Tom Prather and myself are left. All the rest
are long since gone." The experience of crossing the river was a new one to the
prairie raised lad.
From Tumwater the trail to Olympia was taken
and this place reached about noon. The very afternoon the boys reached here news
was brought to the settlement that Washington had. by Act of Congress, been set
aside from Oregon. Everyone was glad and believed that a great era of prosperity
was about to set in for the new territory.
"When I reached Olympia there were no buildings
south of Fourth Street, everywhere else stood the tall timber coming right down
to the beach, the only exception being Isaac Wood's residence, a shack
constructed of clapboards down on the beach at where the end of Fifth Street now
is. Mrs. Simpson Moses and Mrs. George Barnes are the names of the only white
women I can remember, although there were two others when we got here.
"Edmund Sylvester and his brother had a Hall
for Travelers, as they called their place, on the corner where the Old New
England hotel now stands. Their 'Hall' was of split and hewn lumber, lined with
cloth, and while very comfortable for those days hardly came up to its
pretentious name.
"My first job was taken to split rails for Mr.
Ruddle, out on Chambers Prairie. My friend Carr went with me and we found we had
to first cut down the cedar trees, saw them into lengths, and then split the
logs into rails. Well. I was not strong yet and too much of a tenderfoot to last
long at this kind of work, so when noon came we quit and came back to Olympia.
"Our next venture was to go to Alki Point, as
it is now known, but which was then held as a townsite by Charles Terry and
called New York. W. W. Miller was at that time internal revenue officer for the
government and offered Carr and myself passage to New York for rowing the boat
to that place. I was fresh from the prairie country, the water was new to me and
I had never rowed a boat in my life, but we accepted the offer and made out
tolerably well.
"When we reached New York we found that Charlie
Terry, of the firm of Lowe & Terry, loggers, was an old friend of my family,
having come from the same place in Illinois. There were only three or four
cabins there, but Terry had great faith in the prospect of a great city growing
up there some day, so had platted the town site and laid off city lots.
"I was given work driving an ox team—familiar
work it was, too—on Bainbridge Island. Carr was set to felling trees. At this
time our only food for over six weeks was salmon and potatoes, but I never
thrived better, and gained a pound a day. till I was quite a comfortable weight
and my bad health greatly improved. For this six weeks we were out of flour and
it was not till the next sailing vessel came into port that we were enabled to
have a variation from our diet of salmon and potatoes.
"When Lowe sold out I returned to Olympia with
him. and about the first thing I did upon my return was to build a little house
for John Swan, on the corner where the Knox hotel now stands. Upon completion of
this building I rented it of Swan, procured a foot lathe, cut alder trees from
the swamp and began making furniture. In the early days carpenters or cabinet
makers were of necessity mechanics in the true meaning of the word—not wood
butchers. Though the trade was not governed by unions, the very condition
compelled a man to be proficient. It was not possible then to go to the mill and
get his doors and windows, his matched lumber and shingles or moldings—all these
were the work of the carpenter, whose kit of tools must include molding planes
and ether accessories now made unnecessary by modern improvements.
'' Later I bought the corner where for so many
years John Miller Murphy has had his printing office, and which I sold to him in
after years. Here I built for myself a shop, and continued making furniture. I
was getting a fine start, and all my prospects were of the brightest when the
Indian war broke out. This put a stop to business of all kinds. Emigration
slacked, and the country was set back ten years. Closing my shop I enlisted with
the first volunteer company organized to fight the Indians.
"Well, my experiences during this war would
fill a small volume by themselves. Many exciting and dangerous times were before
me then. I was among the soldiers engaged in the Indian fight in the Puyallup
Valley. Once I was with a party of volunteers who rescued an English family of
settlers from massacre in this valley. Their house was surrounded, and although
the inmates had made a gallant defense, the Indians were just breaking down the
door when our men came galloping up, scattering the enemy and saving the lives
of the white people.
"After the White River battle and the
subsequent subduing of the Indians on this side of the mountains, our company
was ordered East of the mountains, where the Indians of the Cayuse, Walla Walla
and Umatilla tribes were on the warpath. We crossed the mountains through the
Natchez Pass, which was wild and rough, and proved a trying experience.
"Our camp was made for several weeks on Mill
Creek, near Walla Walla, at the place where the Whitman massacre occurred. We
had to wait here till our government supplies arrived from Portland.
"Here occurred an incident the reasons of which
kept my comrades guessing for the remainder of the campaign. Among the supplies
sent the volunteers was a barrel of whiskey. This was divided among the several
companies, my company's share being a three gallon camp kettle full. The kettle,
with its precious contents, was set in the commanding officer's tent to wait
till the boys got in from a scouting expedition, before dividing the whiskey. As
it was difficult to get the men together that night our captain decided that a
morning drink would best be appreciated by the boys. Now, it was my duty to care
for this captain's tent, as I was 2nd sergeant of our company, and was generally
the first one up in the morning, to make the fire and bring fresh water for
making the coffee for our mess. I grabbed this kettle, threw the contents on the
ground and filled the utensil with water. Later, when the boys were lined up
with their tin cups in their hands and glad anticipation in their minds, the
captain went into the tent to bring out. the kettle. "Where was it? Why. there
on the fire filled with boiling1 coffee. I was questioned and acknowledged that
it was through my act that the whiskey was scattered on the ground. How was I to
know that the kettle held anything but dirty water? The captain could say but
little, for he had not told me to be careful of the contents of the kettle, and
it was my custom to take that kettle every morning to the creek for fresh water.
My comrades growled a good bit. but they never could tell for certain whether I
really did know what was in that kettle or not. After these years I can say that
the very name of whiskey has always been distasteful to me. We were on the eve
of an attack from the Indians, we supposed, and I was determined that there
would be at least one sober company in the engagement. The boys didn't dare to
manhandle me, but I know they would have liked to do so.
''Word was received that the Indian tribes were
collecting in the Grande Rounde Valley to gather camas for the Winter, and we
were sent in to rout, them. We were 100 fighting men with a guard of 75 men with
the pack animals. It was night when we reached the upper end of the valley and
we went into camp there. Very foolishly we built camp fires, so letting the
Indians know where we were. We expected to find the Indians at the lower passage
on the Grande Rounde River, and in the morning' formed in line and started for
there. Before the passage was reached there came riding out of the willow trees
that fringed the river banks an Indian brave in war paint. In his hand was a
long pole on which was a white man's scalp. Riding wildly around in front of the
volunteers, but always out of rifle range, the Indian gave his war whoop and
waved the ghastly trophy as a tantalizing menace before our boys. My comrade all
through the war was G. C. Blankenship, and a finer man I never met. This sight
was too much for his temper, so he dashed up to our commanding officer and
plead: Col. let me get that fellow?' 'Go then,' said the colonel, 'Get him if
you can while he is in the open, but do not follow him into the brush.
Blankenship rode out after the Indian, but when the rascal saw he was pursued he
took refuge in the bushes and the man had to return to his company.
"Dust arising from the plain near the upper
crossing of the Grande Romule was seen, and Col. Shaw called a halt and said:
'Boys, there is where we want to charge, for there >s where the Indian train,
with their supplies, are trying to get out of the valley." We dashed up and Col.
Shaw dismounted and went into the bushes where he could see up and down +he
river. A man named Buchanan, and myself, also dismounted and went up to the
river, leading our horses. I saw blood on Buchanan's horse's flank and said.
'We'd better get back a little. Buck.' which we did. When Col. Shaw .joined us.
one of the boys said, 'What's that on your coat collar, Colonel?' He looked, and
there was a bullet hole clear through the cloth and another one through the
skirt of his oat. The Indians were poor shooters and couldn't hit anything a few
yards away.
"We crossed the river and the Indians fired on
us as we were fording, but no one was killed, although we got three or four of
their men. As expected, we found the pack train with the women and papooses. The
ponies were loaded with camas and the next day we had a burning and destroyed at
least 200 bushels of roots.
"This was the Indians' last struggle against
the whites. By destroying their winter's supplies they were rendered helpless.
They couldn't fight on empty stomachs and so we conquered them.
"That the Indian war was hastened and fostered
by the Hudson Bay people there is little doubt. At that time England claimed all
this country from the Canadian possessions to the Columbia river, and the ever
increasing number of Americans coming to settle the Northwest threatened to put
under the plow land that the Hudson Bay sheep men were accustomed to look upon
as their legitimate pasturage, so they aided the Indians with arms and supplies
in a struggle to maintain control of the country.
"Governor Stevens sent his clerk out once to
visit the Indian camps to see if he could find evidence of aid to the Indians
from this source. I was sent along, with others, as a guard. We found empty
sacks and cans with the Hudson Bay lettering on them, proving conclusively where
much of the support the Indians received came from.
"I must tell one other incident of the war. While we were camped on Tenalquot
prairie, at the fort there, and the volunteer troops were assembling, myself and
seven other men were sent to Olympia for supplies. We were on horseback and had
just come out on Long prairie when we spied a party of 75 Indians coming towards
us. That they were armed, we could see, for the sun glittered on their guns. We
held a hurried consultation and decided that as we were mounted and the Indians
were on foot we would go a bit closer to see what was doing, although we
intended keeping well out of rifle shot. It proved to be the Squaxon Indian
tribe, under leadership of Indian Agent Gosnald, coming to join forces with the
volunteers to fight the hostiles. When they saw us eight men ride up single file
to meet their army of 75. they broke into a perfect bedlam, they were so
excited. 'What's the use. Indian fight white man.' their chief said, 'one white
man not afraid ten Indians.' And that was always the way it was. We never
thought it was possible that the Indians could lick us. When we went down into
the Grande Rounde after them we were only 100 fighting men, not counting the 75
men in charge of the pack train, and there were 1,000 Indian warriors against
us. But we were never afraid, and so won the struggle.
"When we were on the campaign one of the
pleasant recollections of this grim time was the cooking my comrade. G. C.
Blankenship, did for the mess. The men were supposed lo take turns in this task
but after they had all been tried out, Mr. Blankenship proved so superior in the
culinary art that he was made chief cook for the rest of the campaign- He would
open a sack of flour, mix up a batch of bread with his sour dough 'starting' and
when that bread was baked in the camp oven with plenty of bacon grease it was a
delight to the hungry men. One day, to vary the menu our cook rolled some sugar
in the dough, cut it into little pieces and fried these in bacon grease. The
result was the best doughnuts man ever tasted—or so we thought at the time. When
I got home T tried them to show my women folks how, but they didn't taste so
good. With this bread, doughnuts and bacon, beans and coffee, we fared well on
the trip.
"After the war was over I was appointed Indian
Agent under General R. II. Milroy, and became well acquainted with
Loading...Loading...the Indians. I could speak their language and had many
friends among them. I have worked as cabinet maker and carpenter for years in
Olympia, and once went to Salem, Oregon, where I was engaged in a sash and door
factory for three years, but always came back to this town."
Here Mr. Beatty ceased his talk and asked to be
excused while his wife proceeded with the narrative.
"With my uncle, Rev. Geo. F. Whitworth, and my
aunt, Eliza Whitworth, and her mother, Mrs. Sarah Thompson, my sister Sarah and
the four young Whitworth children, I crossed the plains from Connelton, Indiana.
Grandmother was 78 years old, and I was a young girl of sixteen.
"The way I happened to make this trip was, when
the Presbyterian Board of Missionaries sent Uncle Whitworth out to preach the
Gospel in the wilderness, he begged father to let my sister Sarah and myself
come along as company for Aunt Eliza and to help take care of our grandmother.
Of course, I was to go back in a year or two, but it has been over sixty years
since I made that journey and I have never been back yet.
"We had no special hardships on the trip, other
than was to be expected from camping out for so long a time and the fatigue of
constant but slow traveling, for we had ox teams. There were 40 wagons in our
train, and so, owing to our considerable numbers, we were not molested by the
Indians, although once we were followed 150 miles by a band of warriors, who
told us they intended killing every one of our party in revenge for the death of
one of their number, which had occurred shortly before. An emigrant in a train
ahead of ours had shot and killed the Indian. The brave who came into our camp
to tell us of their intentions amused himself by marking off with stakes in the
ground the length of the graves he informed us we would soon occupy when they
had finished \is. But they never seemed to find the weak spat in our defense and
finally gave over following us. When we leached the Snake river we waited for
other teams along the road to join us for further protection. Two wagons came
along the trail with their beds completely riddled from the Indians' bullets.
They had been attacked by a roving band, one of the children killed and an
attempt made to stampede their stock. They were a sorry-looking outfit.
"Uncle Whitworth would have no Sunday
traveling, and the train was always halted on this day, and we laid by for rest,
and generally held some kind of worship. But when we reached the Blue Mountains
the supplies were running so low that the other people in the train determined
to travel all day Sunday. We started up the Blue Mountains on this particular
Sabbath day, which was the first we had failed to properly observe. When we were
rounding a canyon I was driving the oxen on one side and my sister on the other
to keep them in the narrow road. The front yoke deliberately walked off over the
edge of the precipice. The rigging gave way and left a single yoke of young oxen
to hold the wagon from slipping back down the hillside. These animals strained
till their horns were buried in the dust of the road, and they were brought to
their knees before the wagon could be stopped. That was our first Sunday trial.
As evening came en Uncle Whitworth had to take our big wagon and strike out to
the river, twelve miles away, leaving Aunt Eliza, one of the children and me to
guard the other wagon. We were frightened, for the coyotes were howling round
and it was a fearsome spot. William Mitchell, who was with our train, heard of
our being left behind alone and rode back to stay with us till Uncle Whitworth
could return. We were so glad to see him and appreciated his thoughtfulness.
"When we reach Portland, Uncle Whitworth came
on up to Fort Steilacoom to take up his missionary labors. He found an Episcopal
minister already stationed at the fort, and doing such a noble work that there
seemed to be no field of labor there for any other minister. But in Olympia
there was a good opening, and it seemed to him that he could do a great deal of
good in this new place, so decided to locate here. There was scarcely anybody
living here then, the settlement being mostly at Tumwater, but at what is now
known as Priest's Point some Catholic fathers had established a mission.
"Uncle took up a donation claim on land
adjoining the mission property, built a temporary home for his family and began
his missionary labors. He organized the First Presbyterian church in Olympia,
also at Chehalis, and the one on Chambers prairie. Riding for miles to carry the
gospel wherever a few were congregated, sometimes being obliged to teach school
to support his family, so meager was the pittance allowed him by the Presbytery,
and so poor were his congregations. He was a good man and has gone to a well
earned reward.
"Aunt Eliza, with the rest of the family, had
stayed in Portland the first winter in the West, while Uncle Whitworth was
locating on the Sound. Aunt and my sister, Sarah, taught school that winter to
pay our expenses.
"In May of the following summer Uncle came to
bring us to our new home. The trip in the Indian canoes up the Cowlitz river was
one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. I was totally unused to water,
and although the canoes were large, they looked dangerous to me. Indeed, one of
the canoes was upset and we lost all our bread and dishes, althoiigh the latter
were recovered after several weeks and sent on to us. We found refuge the night
we reached the landing in the home of Mr. Lemon, whose son is now Millard Lemon,
the Olympia capitalist.
"We were met at the landing by Judge B. F.
Yantis with an ox team to bring us to our new home. As we had to camp out along
the way from the Cowlitz to Olympia, the loss of our dishes was very
inconvenient. Judge Yantis searched among the ranch houses to find cups for us
to drink out of, but all the dishes he could procure were three small sugar
bowls of thick earthenware. These the elders used for drinking cups, but we
younger ones had to use egg shells from which to drink our coffee. But we
enjoyed the experience and thought coffee never tasted so good.
"We had one scare as a welcome to the new
country. At the Cowlitz landing were a number of Indian tents and in them were
some very sick squaws and pappooses. Harry Whit- worth, then about nine years
old, went in among them, carrying them water and tending them until way in the
night. Later it developed that the disease with which the Indians were ill was
smallpox, and that in the most virulent form. So severe did the disease rage
that that particular band of Indians was slmost lost. We watched Harry with
great uneasiness till the clanger period was safely over. I suppose the fresh
air and our perfect health prevented our taking the disease.
"When we reached Tumwater Judge Yantis, who was
always full of his fun and jokes, took Sarah and me to visit an Indian camp, to
see what he told us would be our eatables from now on. They had just finished
drying and hanging up a string of geoducks. The long necks and scaly looking
bodies of this, to us, new species of salt water products, did not look very
inviting.
"From Tumwater we took canoes for Priests
Point, where Uncle's claim was. If I was frightened before, imagine my
sensations when I was placed in a tiny craft that, when I was in with my Indian
paddler. was only about one inch above the water of Puget Sound. When we reached
the point below the mission all our household goods we had with us had to be
carried by hand up the hill to our home. Grandmother, who had shared in all our
adventures, could not climb up there, however, so sister Sarah and myself put
her in the little old rocking chair we had brought clear from our old home in
Indiana for her to sit in and carried her up the hill and the quarter of a mile
to where our house stood. This house was but a shack 16x16 built of poles and
covered, sides and all, with cedar bark. There was a fireplace in one end three
or four feet across and one of the most joyous objects we had beheld for a long
time.
"The good fathers at the mission were our only
neighbors, and the woods came close to our shack. In our immediate neighborhood
was an Indian burial place, the bodies hanging in the branches of the tall
trees, laid in canoes. It was to us a fearsome sight, but we became accustomed
to it. and did not mind it after a while. Indeed, we much preferred these dead
Indians to some of those still alive, for it was at this time that the Indian
trouble was on.
"That summer Uncle raised quite an amount of
potatoes and, as we had no cellar, was at loss where to store them, until
someone pointed out that in the field where he was clearing there were a number
of big trees, the roots of which had been burned into, leaving hollows and thus
forming excellent places for storing the potatoes.
"As a variation of our diet we used to put up
the wild berries we found growing here in profusion. As sugar was scarce and
very expensive we used wild honey as the preservative. Honey bee trees were
frequently located, and it was one of the sports of the time to cut one down and
secure the sweets stored in the hollow trunk. We had rough and tumble times, but
good times withal. Life was full of snap and enjoyment in simple pleasures. We
had our mail about every six weeks, and for the first few years all our supplies
came from the Sandwich Islands. It was a great day when we began to get things
in from San Francisco; we began to feel quite civilized. I remember the first
apples ever grown in Thurston County. They were grown on a tree planted by Mr.
Axtel, on Grand Mound prairie. Mrs. Axtel told the boys that if they did not
touch the fruit when it was ripe she would make them a pie. They obeyed and when
that pie was made. so precious were the apples they went in, peel and all. No
wasting good fruit by taking off even the thinnest peeling.
"We lived in the shack Uncle Whitworth had
provided for us for quite a while, but finally we were ready for a new house, so
comes from Olympia David Beatty and A. J. Lin- ville, carpenters, to build our
new house. And that is the time and the place I met Mr. Beatty. These men cut
down trees from the land around the site of the new house, split them into
boards and planed out the weather boarding, all by hand. They made a very'
creditable and comfortable residence, which we appreciated after our crowded
quarters. We sent for our household furnishings, books, etc.. which came around
the Horn, and from San Francisco were sent on by sailing vessels to this port.
"As the Indians were getting troublesome Uncle
Whitworth asked the mission fathers if they considered our situation dangerous.
They replied, 'Not yet, we will give you warning, if it becomes so, in time for
you to go to the stockade in Olympia. In about two weeks this warning was given
and we fled to town. Again we carried grandmother in her little chair to the
water and set her into a canoe. We found refuge in two rooms over Mr. Beatty's
shop. These rooms had been fitted up as a photograph gallery by Samuel Holmes
father of Fred Holmes and Mrs. Robert Frost, and was the first art gallery in
the Northwest. I slept right under the big skylight in the roof.
"Mr. Beatty and I were married in 1856 after the Indian war was over. We at one
time took up a homestead of 160 acres on Ayers' Hill, joining Swan's donation
claim. Mr. Beatty built a cabin on one side of a stream that flowed there then,
and his partner, Mr. Linville, lived on the other side of the stream, but it was
so lonesome and the trees were so formidable that the places were abandoned. The
timber alone, in after years on those claims, would have been worth a fortune.
"Uncle Whitworth, Aunt Eliza, the grandmother, Sister Sarah, all are gone. I can
think of no one of my associates of those early days who is still living. Our
daughter Adelaide, if the only child we have ever had."
Source: Early History of Thurston County, Washington By Georgiana Mitchell
Blankenship
Submitted by Barbara ZiegenmeyerBack