THE MURDER OF MCCORMICK.
The shores of Lake Union, in Seattle, now surrounded by electric and
steam railways, sawmills and manufactories, dwellings and public
buildings, were clothed with a magnificent, dense, primeval forest, when
the adventurous pioneers first looked upon its mirror-like surface. The
shadowy depths of the solemn woods held many a dark and tragic secret;
contests between enemies in both brute and human forms were doubtless
not infrequently hidden there.
Many men came to the far northwest unheralded and unknown to the few
already established, and wandering about without guides, unacquainted
with the dangers peculiar to the region, were incautious and met a
mysterious fate.
For a long time the "Pioneer and Democrat," of Olympia, Washington, one
of the earliest newspapers of the northwest, published an advertisement
in its columns inquiring for James Montgomery McCormick, sent to it from
Pennsylvania. It is thought to have been one and the same person with
the subject of this sketch. Even if it were not, the name will do as
well as any other.
One brilliant summer day in July of 1853, a medium sized man, past
middle age, was pushing his way through the black raspberry jungle on
the east side of Lake Union, gathering handfuls of the luscious fruit
that hung in rich purple clusters above his head. A cool bubbling
spring, that came from far up the divide toward Lake Washington, tempted
him and stooping down he drank of the refreshing stream where it filled
a little pool in the shadow of a mossy log. Glancing about him, he
marked with a keen delight the loveliness of the vegetation, the plumy
ferns, velvet mosses and drooping cedars; how grateful to him must have
been the cool north breeze wandering through the forest! No doubt he
thought it a pleasant place to rest in before returning to the far away
settlement. Upon the mossy log he sat contentedly, marveling at the
stillness of the mighty forest.
The thought had scarcely formed itself when he was startled by the
dipping of paddles, wild laughter and vociferous imitations of animals
and birds. A canoe grated on the beach and after a brief expectant
interval, tramping feet along the trail betokened an arrival and a group
of young Indians came in sight, one of whom carried a Hudson Bay musket.
"Kla-how-ya" (How do you do), said the leader, a flathead, with shining
skin recently oiled, sinister black brows, and thick black hair cut
square and even at the neck.
At first they whistled and muttered, affecting little interest in his
appearance, yet all the while were keenly studying him.
The white man had with him a rifle, revolver and camp ax. The young
savages examined the gun, lifting it up and sighting at a knot-hole in a
distant tree; then the ax, the sharp edge of which they fingered, and
the revolver, to their minds yet more fascinating.
They were slightly disdainful as though not caring to own such articles,
thereby allaying any fears he may have had as to their intentions. Being
able to converse but little with the natives, the stranger
good-naturedly permitted them to examine his weapons and even his
clothing came under their scrutiny. His garments were new, and well
adapted to frontier life.
When he supposed their curiosity satisfied, he rose to go, when one of
the Indians asked him, "Halo chicamum?" (Have you any money?) he
incautiously slapped his hip pocket and answered "Hiyu chicamum" (plenty
of money), perhaps imagining they did not know its use or value, then
started on the trail.
They let him go a little way out of sight and in a few, half-whispered,
eager, savage words agreed to follow him, with what purpose did not
require a full explanation.
Noiselessly and swiftly they followed on his track. One shot from the
musket struck him in the back of the head and he fell forward and they
rushed upon him, seized the camp ax and dealt repeated blows; life
extinct, they soon stripped him of coat, shirt, and pantaloons, rifled
the pockets, finding $200 and a few small trinkets, knife or keys. With
the haste of guilt they threw the body still clothed in a suit of
undergarments, behind a big log, among the bushes and hurried away with
their booty, paddling swiftly far up the lake to their camp.
A dark, cloudy night followed and the Indians huddled around a little
fire, ever and anon starting at some sound in the gloomy forest. Already
very superstitious, their guilt made them doubly afraid of imaginary
foes. On a piece of mat in the center of the group lay the money,
revolver, etc., of which they had robbed the unfortunate white man. They
intended to divide them by "slahal," the native game played with
"stobsh" and "slanna" (men and women), as they called the round black
and white disks with which they gambled. A bunch of shredded cedar bark
was brought from the canoe and the game began. All were very skillful
and continued for several hours, until at last they counted the clothes
to one, all the money to another, and the revolver and trifles to the
rest. One of the less fortunate in a very bad humor said "The game was
not good, I don't want this little 'cultus' (worthless) thing."
"O, you are stupid and don't understand it," they answered tauntingly,
thereupon he rolled himself in his blanket and sulked himself to sleep,
while the others sat half dreamily planning what they would do with
their booty.
Very early they made the portage between Lakes Union and Washington and
returned to their homes.
But they did not escape detection.
Only a few days afterward an Indian woman, the wife of Hu-hu-bate-sute
or "Salmon Bay Curley," crossed Lake Union to the black raspberry patch
to gather the berries. Creeping here and there through the thick
undergrowth, she came upon a gruesome sight, the disfigured body of the
murdered white man. Scarcely waiting for a horrified "Achada!" she fled
incontinently to her canoe and paddled quickly home to tell her husband.
Hu-hu-bate-sute went back with her and arrived at the spot, where one
log lay across another, hollowed out the earth slightly, rolled in and
covered the body near the place where it was discovered.
Suspecting it was the work of some wild, reckless Indians he said
nothing about it.
Their ill-gotten gains troubled the perpetrators of the deed, brought
them no good fortune and they began to think there was "tamanuse" about
them; they gave the revolver away, bestowed the small articles on some
unsuspecting "tenas" (children) and gave a part of the money to "Old
Steve," whose Indian name was Stemalyu.
The one who criticised the division of the spoils, whispered about
among the other Indians dark hints concerning the origin of the suddenly
acquired wealth and gradually a feeling arose against those who had the
money. Quarreling one day over some trifle, one of them scornfully
referred to the other's part of the cruel deed: "You are wicked, you
killed a white man," said he. The swarthy face of the accused grew livid
with rage and he plunged viciously at the speaker, but turning,
eel-like, the accuser slipped away and ran out of sight into the forest.
An old Indian followed him and asked "What was that you said?"
"O nothing, just idle talk."
"You had better tell me," said the old man sternly.
After some hesitation he told the story. The old man was deeply grieved
and so uneasy that he went all the way to Shilshole (Salmon Bay) to see
if his friend Hu-hu-bate-sute knew anything about it and that discreet
person astonished him by telling him his share of the story. By degrees
it became known to the Indians on both lakes and at the settlement.
Meanwhile the wife of the one accused in the contention, took the money
and secretly dropped it into the lake.
One warm September day in the fall of the same year, quite a concourse
of Indians were gathered out doors near the big Indian house a little
north of D. T. Denny's home in the settlement (Seattle); they were
having a great "wa-wa" (talk) about something; he walked over and asked
them what it was all about.
"Salmon Bay Curley," who was among them, thereupon told him of the
murder and the distribution of the valuables.
Shortly after, W. N. Bell, D. T. Denny, Dr. Maynard, E. A. Clark and one
or two others, with Curley as a guide, went out to the lake, found the
place and at first thought of removing the body, but that being
impossible, Dr. Maynard placed the skull, or rather the fragments of it,
in a handkerchief and took the two pairs of spectacles, one gold-rimmed,
the other steel-rimmed, which were left by the Indians, and all returned
to the settlement to make their report.
Investigation followed and as a result four Indians were arrested. A
trial before a Justice Court was held in the old Felker house, which was
built by Captain Felker and was the first large frame house of sawed
lumber erected on the site of Seattle.
At this trial, Klap-ke-lachi Jim testified positively against two of
them and implicated two others. The first two were summarily executed by
hanging from a tall sharply leaning stump over which a rope was thrown;
it stood where the New England Hotel was afterward built. A young Indian
and one called Old Petawow were the others accused.
Petawow was carried into court by two young Indians, having somehow
broken his leg. There was not sufficient evidence against him to convict
and he was released.
C. D. Boren was sheriff and for lack of a jail, the young Indian accused
was locked in a room in his own house.
Not yet satisfied with the work of execution, a mob headed by E. A.
Clark determined to hang this Indian also. They therefore obtained the
assistance of some sailors with block and tackle from a ship in the
harbor, set up a tripod of spars, cut for shipment, over which they put
the rope. In order to have the coast clear so they could break the
"jail," a man was sent to Boren's house, who pretended that he wished to
buy some barrels left in Boren's care by a cooper and stacked on the
beach some distance away.
The unsuspecting victim of the ruse accompanied him to the beach where
the man detained him as long as he thought necessary, talking of
barrels, brine and pickling salmon, and perhaps not liking to miss the
"neck-tie party," at last said, "Maybe we'd better get back, the boys
are threatening mischief."
Taking the hint instantly, Boren started on a dead run up the beach in a
wild anxiety to save the Indian's life. In sight of the improvised
scaffold he beheld the Indian with the noose around his neck, E. A.
Clark and D. Livingston near by, a sea captain, who was a
mere-on-looker, and the four sailors in line with the rope in their
hands, awaiting the order to pull.
The sheriff recovered himself enough to shout, "Drop that rope, you
rascals!"
"O string him up, he's nothing but a Siwash," said one.
"Dry up! you have no right to hang him, he will be tried at the next
term of court," said Boren. The sailors dropped the rope, Boren removed
the noose from the neck of the Indian, who was silent, bravely enduring
the indignity from the mob. The majesty of the law was recognized and
the crowd dispersed.
The Indian was sent to Steilacoom, where he was kept in jail for six
months, but when tried there was no additional evidence and he was
therefore released. Returning to his people he changed his name, taking
that of his father's cousin, and has lived a quiet and peaceable life
throughout the years.
Sad indeed seems the fate of this unknown wanderer, but not so much so
as that of others who came to the Northwest to waste their lives in
riotous living and were themselves responsible for a tragic end of a
wicked career, so often sorrowfully witnessed by the sober and
steadfast.
Of the participants in this exciting episode, D. T. Denny, C. D. Boren
and the Indian, whose life was so promptly and courageously saved by C.
D. Boren from an ignominious death, are (in 1892) still living in King
County, Washington.