The State of Texas requires a brief notice. She was admitted into the Union as a State on December29th, 1845. By the prudential foresight of her statesmen, in a compact entered into between her and the Federal Government, she reserved the right to form four additional States out of her large area. She has not as yet exercised that right, but no doubt will in due time; thus securing ten Senators, while the whole Pacific Coast, with almost twice her territorial area, has fixed its number irrevocably at six.
The Ram's Horn Incident
Esau sold his birthright, with all that it implied, for a mess of pottage. Infant communities, whether territorial or municipal, feeling the pressure of present want, are always tempted by money-sharks to mortgage, sell, or surrender, for a mere song, rights and franchises of a constantly increasing income, and relinquish political power necessary for a legitimate assertion and protection of their rights in years to come. A striking exemplification of this short-sightedness appears in what is said above as to the formation of only three States to cover the whole Pacific Coast. The supplicant for this birthright, and all its prospective enormous income, finds his most congenial and hospitable host in a municipal legislature. He is usually, but not always, accompanied by the fascinating Miss Graftis.
There are two cases in our municipal history that I will briefly note as illustrations of this tendency. In neither, so far as I know and believe, was there any graft. In both I was to some extent officially connected; in the Rams-Horn case painfully so; in the Railroad Avenue case simply as an officer and protestant. Many years ago—the dates are not important—the Columbia and Puget Sound Railroad Company asked the City Council of Seattle for the grant of a right-of-way for a railroad track down and over West Street. This was the historic Ram's-Horn. I and a few others opposedthe grant. The City Council hesitated. Its members desired the approval of the grant by the people, and especially by the lot-owners along the street, before they acted. A meeting was called at the Pavilion to secure, if possible, such approval. The meeting was fairly attended. Mr. James McNaught, a shrewd and able man and lawyer, was attorney for the Company. He read the proposed ordinance and explained its provisions, and then, with a glowing eulogy on the advantages of a railroad, closed amid the vociferous applause of the audience. I arose to oppose the grant; but as there was a continuous and determined cry of "Vote!" "Vote!" "Vote!" "Vote!" I resumed my seat. The proposed ordinance was approved by about a two-thirds vote of those present, and the City Council speedily enacted it into law. The Railroad Company built its road from the south end of the town and laid its track down to Columbia Street; there it stopped, to await the result of certain condemnation proceedings. The wearers of the shoe, although voting for its purchase, soon felt its pinch, and they wanted compensation for its pain. The Company threatened to go across Columbia Street. It was stopped by a judicial restraining order. Having been elected Corporation Counsel, I came into the case a short time before the hearing on the motion made by the Company for the vacation of this order. The former legal adviser of the City, and who had commenced the suit, I asked to continue in the case and to argue the pending motion. He did so, and made a technical and very ingenious argument against the validity of the grant. I must confess that I believed the ordinance valid, and that the objections urged against it were unsound, and I was fully convincedthe Court would so hold. In the mean time Columbia Street had been graded and macadamized. Its surface was fully eighteen inches above the railroad track. Being fully informed by a careful personal inspection, and thorough measurement by experts, of the exact fact, I proposed to compromise. I first proposed to allow the Company to cross Columbia Street, but to cross at the existing grade. This would require a reconstruction of the tracks already finished, and subject the Company to many suits for damages in case of their change of grade. Secondly, I agreed to withdraw the pending suit if this proposal was accepted by the Company. This all took place in open Court, and the compromise was approved in open Court; the ordinance, at the request of the Company's attorney, was declared valid by the Court. The compromise was also approved.
The next morning, to my astonishment, a large force of men was put at work by the Company to cut through Columbia Street; basing its action on the alleged ground that the compromise was null and void because of a mutual mistake of the facts by the parties. There was no mutual mistake. I fully knew and understood all of the facts.
An incipient riot was in progress; but the interference of the police and the issuance of a restraining order soon put an end to operations. The newspapers emptied their vials of wrath on me as the principal sinner.
An appeal was taken by the Company to the Supreme Court, and that learned and unimpassioned tribunal affirmed every position taken by me in the case; it held the ordinance to be valid and the compromisebinding. Thus, ended the somewhat celebrated Ram's-Horn case, and with it that railroad across Columbia Street.
On the publication of the decision of the Supreme Court, it was amusing to see my calumniators retreat to cover; still damning, however, with faint praise.
Railroad Avenue
There is one more topic of intensified local interest that I will briefly notice. I am now and always have been opposed, not to Railroad Avenue, which extends along the water-front of the city, but to the network of tracks permitted and authorized to be placed thereon. At the foot of Columbia Street, crossing Railroad Avenue to the west line thereof, you cross nine railroad tracks, or eighteen lines of slightly elevated railroad iron. Such are the existing and authorized conditions. I have always been opposed to those conditions; first, because they are unusual, unnecessary and dangerous; unusual, because no city can be named permitting such a nuisance; unnecessary, because one track, or, to be liberal, two tracks, with spurs to the warehouses on the west and the wholesale or commission houses on the east, where the conditions permit it, would be ample, under the control of an intelligent company or management, for all the purposes of trade and commerce; dangerous, as experience has shown: the killed and injured on this interlocked system, intensified by supervening and dense fogs, speak only by groans and death-knells. I have opposed this network of tracks because instead of being an aid to travel and commerce, it is an actual obstruction of them. The idea of doing the commercial business of a million people, or one-half a million, with the accompanying passenger traffic, across nine railroad tracks, carries with it a strong implication of the absurd. In actual operation thisimplication becomes an irritating reality. The City Council has recognized the fact and prohibited the closing by any railroad company of the mouth of any street for over five minutes; but this is only a partial aleviation, and not the removal of the obstruction or danger. Railroad No. 1 closes it for four-and-a-half minutes; Railroad No. 2 closes it for four-and-a-half minutes; No. 3, for the same length of time. The closing is really continuous. Thus legally you can stand in the street, endure the slush and rain for at least twelve minutes to study the beauties of nature and of an enveloping fog, and enjoy the beneficence of the clouds in dropping their garnered fatness down.
The irritation arising from these causes will intensify with the increase of population and the swelling of the volume of coastwise and ocean commerce. Let the population of West Seattle reach twenty thousand or more; let "the mosquito fleet" be doubled and ocean and coastwise steamers be multiplied, with the consequent enormous, increase of the volume of business—and the demand for the modification, or entire abolition, of this irritating nuisance will become imperative. Some of the railroads have wisely noted the indications of the coming storm and have tunnelled under the city, deeming it cheaper to pay interest on permanent tunnel investments, than to pay damages for slaughter and injury on the avenue. Railroad Avenue is now used, to a great extent, as a train make-up yard, as a switching-ground and as a depot for loaded and empty cars. This will be continued with a constantly increasing exasperation, until the City is compelled to re-purchase at an enormous expense, that which was granted as a free gift.
The Great Seattle Fire
June 6th, 1889, will ever be a memorable day in the history of Seattle—that being the day of the Great Fire which, like a besom of destruction swept out of existence a goodly portion of the embryo city. Brilliant prospects, and glowing anticipations, evanished like the rainbow amid the storm of fire. Nearly all the business houses were reduced to ashes; or, if any portion of their roughly serrated and toppling walls remained, they were a silent and menancing memento of the fierce power of the fire-fiend. The fire originated in a paint shop, on the water front near Madison Street, in the careless upsetting of a flaming pot of varnish. There was a stiff breeze from the northwest, constantly accelerated by the ever-increasing heat. The fire, easily overcoming the heroic efforts of the Volunteer Fire Department, swept south and southeasterly, crossing Second Avenue at the rear end of the Boston Block, burning a large frame building immediately south of, and abutting upon that block; thence, in the same direction southeast nearly on a straight line, thus taking in the Catholic Church; thence onward to the Bay, making a space swept by the fire a large triangle, with an area of from thirty to forty acres.
The Boston Block was saved through strenuous efforts of its tenants; long scantling were carried by them into the hall on the second story. Having raised the windows at the end of the hall, the south end of the frame building burning first, we succeeded by ourunited strength in forcing the unburned portion over into the consuming caldron of fire to the south. Thus the Boston Block, though somewhat scorched, was saved.
Jacobs & Jenner had their law offices near the north entrance, and during the progress of the fire many persons whose residences or places of business were along its actual or threatened track, presuming on our generosity and permission, brought armloads of portable valuables, snatched by them from the very teeth of the fire, and in an excited manner, placed them against one of the walls in the offices. So doing, they rushed out in the hope of reaching their residences or places of business again; but the surrounding wall of fire, with its intense heat, forbade. Some of them soon returned and dropped into seats, and their countenances were the pictures of sadness, sorrow and despair. I said to one, a noble specimen of physical manhood and latent energy: "Sir, your actions are unmanly; hope, even in your case, has not bidden the world farewell; cheer up, sir—just before dawn the darkness is the deepest." Within a year from that time my admonished friend was worth far more than he was before the fire; and he often reminded me of my rebuke, as he called it.
Being satisfied that the offices, papers, library and furniture were safe, I locked the doors and went up to my residence on Fourth Avenue, where I had a commanding view of the progress of the fire.
The view was grand but terrible—sublime but cruel. I never before was so impressed with the idea of annihilation, as I was in viewing that rolling, rushing, leaping and devouring volume or field of fire. In otherdays I had witnessed miles of fire, impelled by a fierce wind rushing over a prairie covered with tall and dry grass; but it only stirred within me the emotions of beauty, grandeur, and sublimity; there was nothing in it of terror or desolation, nothing of the wrecking of brilliant prospects, nothing of blighted hopes, nor of gloomy disappointment intensifying into despair. Ever and anon, as the rushing waves of the Seattle fire would roll over and envelope a drug or other store where powder or other explosives were kept, a volume of flame would shoot upward, with a deafening roar, towards the clouds, as though claiming the storm-king as its kinsman.
To the owners of lots in the burned district the fire was a blessing in disguise. To them there was a smiling face behind a seemingly frowning Providence. Even if they were the owners of the frail wooden structure that had encumbered their lots, the structures added nothing to the value; and the rapid and unprecedented increase in the value of their holdings amply compensated for any losses by the fire. The real loosers were the renters of shops, stores or saloons, where goods, tools, materials and machinery were destroyed by the intense heat, or went up wholly in flames.
But a few families lived in the zone of the fire. As to them, many kind hands soon removed their household goods beyond the danger-line.
The district swept by the fire was the local habitation of the fallen angels, hoboes, and gamblers, and of that large class whose particular mode of subsistence is, and always has been, an unsolved mystery. The fallen angels and the upper class of gamblers could take care of themselves. The hoboes and the class ofmysterious subsistence-men were afloat and hungry. Besides these, there were a large number of worthy and needy persons whom it is always a pleasure for the good to help; hence, a free-lunch house was opened in the Armory. There is always in a free-lunch a fascination that tends to increase the number of applicants therefor. This general law had no exception here. This led to a stringent examination of the right of all who appeared to partake of the generous bounty offered to the worthy and needy. This careful and necessary scrutiny soon led to a stoppage of the free-lunch business. The worthy in many cases needlessly took offense, and the baser order of fellows were loud in their denunciation of the alleged selfishness of the generous purveyors. The people of Tacoma promptly and nobly rushed to the assistance of Seattle, with provisions and personal services. The leading men of that city poured out their means lavishly and served as waiters at the tents erected for the feeding of the multitude.
Business soon revived with an enthusiastic rebound. The town was scorched, not killed. It had passed through an ordeal of fire and was found to be not wanting in true metal. Work was furnished for all desiring it. The hoboes departed, and with them most of the mysterious-subsistence men. The burned district has been rebuilt with stately blocks of brick, or stone, or steel and cement, and its streets and sidewalks have been paved with brick, stone or asphalt. Not a smell of fire nor sight of wooden structure remains in this once ash-covered and desolate district.
Game, Animals and Hunting
With something of a reputation of a hunter, I have often been requested by Eastern, as well as local sportsmen, to give an enumeration and description of the game and wild animals in this State and in Oregon. I shall confine myself exclusively to this State. I have heretofore written a description and given an enumeration of the game and other wild animals in both States, but I have neither the manuscript, nor the newspaper which printed it. In again attempting an enumeration and description, I shall add some of my personal experiences, as well as those of others.
There were no quail native to Washington or to Oregon, except the southern portion thereof—save the mountain quail, a lonely solitary bird, of about twice the size of the bob-white. Its habitat is the dense copse or thicket. I have never seen them in flocks or groups, save when the mother was raising her large family of young birds. When no longer needing the mother's care, they pair off, and the young birds, or family separate.
They are very alert; they are great runners, but do not, unless hotly pursued, often take to wing. When they do, they are swift flyers and dart through the narrow openings in the tangled thicket with remarkable celerity. The male bird is proud and rather aristocratic in his bearing, and flourishes on his head a beautiful top-knot. I have bagged quite a number of them, but have nearly always shot them on the run andnot on the wing. They are not numerous. Their flesh is delicate.
The California quail was brought into Washington at least fifty years or more ago. Three of us—James Montgomery, Judge Wingard and myself—in the fall of 1872 brought from Pennsylvania sixteen pairs of bob-whites, which were turned loose on Whidby Island. This was, so far as I know, the first and last importation of the bob-white to Washington. When turned loose on Whidby Island, they gave every indication of pleasure in being upon Mother Earth again. They ran about, jumped up in to the air, scratched the earth and wallowed in the dirt, and had to all appearances a play-spell, full of joy. They mixed readily with their California congeres; they have spread over Western Washington, and are quite numerous.
The pheasant, or ruffed grouse, are natives of Washington. They were very abundant in early days, but are fast disappearing. Being a bird easily bagged, and the flesh being of delicate flavor, they are fast vanishing before the advance of the settlements. The game laws may arrest their slaughter and prevent their complete annihilation; but I doubt it. The crab-apple, on which they principally feed, abounded in all the valleys and in the moist and rich uplands. The ground where the crab-apple tree flourished has been cleared and a portion of their food supply has been cut off. The repeating shotgun is also helping to reduce their number; and unless the game-laws are rigorously enforced, these causes will soon sound their doom. Right here I am tempted to state that the crab-apple of this country is entirely different in form and size from the same fruit in the East. Here, it is notround but elongated, and is about as large as a good-sized bean.
The woodcock is not an inhabitant of this State. The rail is rarely seen; but the jacksnipe is very plentiful in the late fall and up to mid-winter, when the great majority of them depart for warmer marshes. They do not breed here. This bird, in its quick and upward bound and its swift zigzag flights, is a recognized test of the sportsman's skill. Snipes are often bagged here, but not in the romantic way. Snipe on hot toast is a breakfast dish fit for a king.
I had a sporting friend—a doctor—with whom I often went snipe-shooting. This doctor was the best snipe-shot I have ever known. His bag was always packed, while mine was comparatively lean. On one of these occasions our trip was to a tide-marsh and island south of Seattle. Early in the hunt we crossed a slough when the tide was out and found the birds very numerous on the new hunting-ground. The doctor brought them down right and left, while I was slowly increasing the fatness of my pouch. The doctor's success and consequent enthusiasm made him oblivious of the flight of time and of the movement of the tide. He had patients to visit, and when the sun was disappearing behind the western clouds and hills, he suddenly remembered his obligations to them. When on our return we came to the slough, we found it full and overflowing; the water was fully eight feet in depth and twenty feet or more in width. There was a good deal of floating debris in the slough, and the doctor, being a very agile man, leaped from log to log and safely made the passage to the other shore. He said to me, "Come on, Judge; you can easily make it." I told him that I had never prided myself on my agility."Well," he said, "I will make a bridge for you;" and with the use of a pole he gathered the floating logs together, so that in appearance they looked like a safe bridge. But I said to him, "Doctor, I have all the confidence in the world in you as a physician; but you will excuse me,—I have no confidence whatever in you as a bridge-builder." He said with a little impatience, "O, quit your nonsense and come over; I will show you that the bridge is perfectly safe;" so saying, he leaped upon it and disappeared in the water. He soon re-appeared, however; and as he crawled up the slimy bank, the water spouting out of him in every direction, I said: "Doctor, you look very undignified." He answered, "You go to ——," politely called Hades. I went down the slough, thinking he might be slightly out of temper, and found a safe crossing. I rowed him home—issuing an occasional mandate that he should take a certain medicine, of which I carried in my breast-pocket, a bottle for such occasions. The good doctor has gone to his long home. He sleeps in the bosom of his fathers and his God.
Of the duck family the following species are abundant here: the teal, the mallard, widgeon, pintail, canvasback, spoonbill, sawbill and woodduck. The three last-named species breed in this country, but migrate early in the fall. Formerly the mallard and teal bred here in large numbers on the tide flats and on the marshes along the creeks and rivers; but the advancement of the settler and the trapper, and the hunter with his repeating rifle, has driven them from their accustomed love-haunts, to the more secluded fens and marshes of the farther north. Birds as well as humans are sensitive to disturbance in their love-affairs. The canvasback is a late and temporary visitant of ourlakes, marshes, and tide flats, on his journey to the south. He remains for a time on that journey, and for a far shorter time on his return north. The impulse of love impels him to the secluded fens and marshes of the northland. The other species visit us in early winter, and are mostly gone by mid-winter. Their stay is very brief on their return in the spring.
In 1869, and prior to that date, brants and wild geese—or honkers—were very plentiful in the Puget Sound basin. The tide flats were their favorite feeding-ground. They have been compelled by the advance of the settlements to abandon them, and in lieu thereof, they have chosen the wheat-fields in Eastern Washington. There has been no seeming diminution in number of either brant or geese—simply a change in their feeding grounds.
The lonely cry of the loon, presaging storm or tempest, is heard from the forest-environed lakes and waters of the Sound.
The swan occasionally drops into our secluded lakes, and there alone, or with his mate, remains, if the environments suit him and food is plenty.
The pigeon is not numerous in Western nor, as I am informed, in Eastern Washington. He is slightly larger and wilder than his congere of the States. He is also of a deeper blue than his Eastern kinsman. He is only semi-gregarious. I have never seen him in large flocks or in great numbers together. He is not hunted much and is not valued as a choice game-bird.
The prairie-hen, or chicken, is not a native of and does not exist in Western Washington. This excellent game-bird is very numerous, or was in years agone, along the rivers and creeks in the valleys and on the rolling uplands of the great Columbia River basin.The incoming of the white man, with his trained dogs and with his breech-loading and repeating shotgun, has greatly diminished its numbers. Its unacquaintance with the white man and his terrible instruments of destruction made the bird an easy prey to the hunter. It was familiar to the Indian, and presumably gauging fairly his destructive power, constantly increased in number. The felon coyote was a far more dangerous enemy, being a robber of its nest and devourer of its young. The bird is slightly smaller and of lighter color than his Eastern congere. These birds are much prized by the epicure for the rich delicacy of their flesh.
Corresponding in number but larger in size is the blue grouse, of the fir and cedar forests of Western Washington. I hardly know how to describe this bird—one of the finest of game-birds. His habitat in the winter or rainy season is the dark, gloomy, and thick forests of fir and cedar trees. There he dwells, possibly with his chosen mate, silently and noiselessly, and in a state of semi-hibernation, until the genial warmth of spring arouses his love, and he and his mate descend to the sunny lowlands or ridges for the rearing of their numerous family. After they have found a suitable or familiar location, the male selects some fir or cedar tree, or clump of fir or cedar trees, in the vicinage, and during the nesting season keeps up a continual love-call to notify his presence, or by his silence or flight to warn her of threatened danger. When the bevy of beauties are fully hatched, the male descends from his eminence and spends his time in assisting care and watchfulness. Perched on some tall tree in their immediate vicinity, he by calls warns his mate of approaching danger, and by the direction of his flight indicates a place of safety. His mate and the youngsterssoon follow, if able to fly; if not, they remain under the care of the mother, deftly hidden under the leaves or grass; after which, she often flies away by short flights with simulated disabled indications, to invite pursuit; and thus save her young. When the young are fully grown and strong of wing they all depart for the deep woods, and no more is seen or heard of them until the coming spring. Until the young are fully grown and the time of their departure has arrived, they are often found in large bevies or flocks; but when that time, late in the fall, has arrived, they silently depart for their winter home.
Killed in early spring, their flesh is so strongly tinctured with the flavor of the buds of the fir and cedar, their winter food, as to be unpalatable to most persons; but if killed in the fall, after a summer's diet of insects, seeds, grain and berries, their flesh is of a delicious flavor and greatly relished. This excellent game-bird, though decreasing in number from the general causes already stated, will, on account of its mode of existence, long escape the doom of annihilation.
The sand-hill crane rarely visits Western Washington. He is more frequently seen in the Eastern half of the State.
There remains but one other game-bird for notice, and that is the sage-hen of the sage-covered valleys and plains of Eastern Washington. This bird does not exist west of the Cascade Mountains. It is anti-gregarious, save as in the consorting cares of a numerous family. When the young arrive at full growth they pair off and separate, and the family relations are no longer recognized. If the males are less numerous than the females, polygamy is allowed. This is a law, however, that runs through many of the bird families.The cock is a bird midway in size between the common domestic fowl and the turkey, and has long legs. He is a good runner. He rarely takes to the wing, and then only when hard pressed. His flight is low but swift, and he soon drops to the ground and speeds away on his legs to a place of safety. His food in winter consists of leaves and buds of the sagebrush; and when killed in the early spring his meat is too strongly impregnated with the rather acrid and unpalatable flavor of the sage, to be relished; but if bagged in the fall, after a summer's feeding on insects, seeds and grain, his flesh is savory and delicious.
I ought possibly, to make a brief statement, as to the Mongolian pheasant, and the Chinese rice quail—both of which, in limited numbers have been brought to Western Washington and turned loose here. Their increase has not been as great as anticipated. In Oregon however, the increase of the Mongolian pheasant has been phenominal. It abounds every where in the great Willamette Valley. It seems to love an alternation of grain fields and contiguous chaparral cover. It is emphatically a seed feeder or graniverous bird. The female, with the nursing assistance of the male, usually raises two large broods per year. This accounts for its great and rapid increase under favorable conditions. In size this bird is slightly larger than the prairie chicken—has long legs—is a rapid runner—and when it takes to wing is a low and rapid flyer.
In Western Washington the limited number of grain fields and the absence of contiguous open ground—seems to be unfavorable to their rapid increase. Still in the cultivated valleys where these conditions exist, they are fact increasing in numbers despite the fact that they are an easy prey to the pot hunter.
Of the China rice quail, I know accurately, but little. There were for a time a few flocks of these birds in the vicinity of Seattle; but they have almost entirely disappeared. Whether such disappearance is attributable to the lack of food or to the persistent activity of the trap hunter I am not able to say. They preserve their family or flock relations until late in the spring, and hence the bevy may be swept out of existence by one successful fall of the trap. From my observation and limited study of their habits, I would say that they were chaparral, or tulie birds, with their choice habitat near human habitations. In size they are slightly smaller than the bob-white and their flesh is delicious.
Washington is emphatically a game country. The hunter may here realize his fondest hopes. The elk, mountain sheep or goat, deer, bear—black, brown and cinnamon—cougar, lynx, wild-cat, in their native and congenial habitat—I would not forget the wolf—can always be found. I propose to notice each class briefly in its order.
First, then of the Elk. The mountains, with their barren ridges, their wooded slopes and sunlit coves of peavine, clover and nutritious grasses, as well as the dark forests of the foothills, are their congenial habitat. Rarely are they found in the lowlands, and then only when they are forced from their mountain-home by the deepening snow. They have been styled the antlered monarchs of the forests, and this description is not inapt. If suddenly, within short range you startle from their secluded sylvan couch a band of forty, fifty or more of these antlered monarchs, with horns erect and every eye turned upon you as an enemy, you are deeply impressed with the majesty of their bearing.Soon, in obedience to the danger-call of certain warning whistles, they speedily form into line under some veteran and well-recognized-leader, and speed away in single-file for miles, over a country impassable to the hunter, before a halt is called. The hunter who does not improve his chance effectively when the game is started from its couch has lost his opportunity, perhaps forever.
This noble game seems to love the Coast Range of mountains, and there exists in large herds and numbers. This is especially true of the Olympic Range. If this kingly game-animal is to be saved from utter annihilation, stringent laws must not only be enacted for his protection and preservation, but must also be vigorously enforced.
Heretofore, they have been slaughtered in large numbers for their hides, their horns and their teeth; while their carcasses have been left where the life-struggle ended, to be devoured by the wolf, cougar, lynx or wild-cat.
While the mountains bordering on the Ocean seem to be preferred by this antlered monarch, yet he may be found in considerable numbers on the Cascade Range, especially on its timber-slope and in the dense forests on its foothills.
I have killed quite a number of these noble animals, but never, under any circumstances, where I could not make uses of the carcass. I never had, or experienced any joy arising from the mere love of slaughter. With gun in hand, with hunter's blood in your veins, and noble game within easy range, it requires a high degree of moral courage to refuse to manipulate the trigger of your trusty rifle. With carniverous,or dangerous animals it is different; slaughter becomes a virtue and not a vice.
The habitat of the mountain sheep, or goat is on and around the barren peaks and ranges of the higher formation of mountains. He is a wary animal, hard to approach and difficult of shot. He is always so located that a single bound puts him out of sight. If perchance, you could make an effective shot as he leaps from narrow bench, to narrow bench, down the rocky and steep side of the mountain, of what use would he be to you?
I have succeeded in killing but one. I have hunted the mountain districts where they are plentiful, and I had determined to kill one if possible. I hunted slowly, cautiously and stealthily. I frequently caught sight of them leaping down the mountain side. At last I aroused one from his couch and shot him on his first jump. He rolled down the mountain-side a short distance, but with some difficulty I dragged him to the top of the ridge. His meat was sweet, juicy and delicious, greatly relished by all the party. I had, had glory enough, and never specially hunted them again.
The black, brown and cinnamon bear are natives of Washington, and their numbers are in the order given. A bear is a semi-carniverous animal; he lives on fish, berries, succulent and saccharine roots, larva, honey, and is especially found of pork. He appeases his appetite for fish by a nocturnal visitation of the rivers in which the salmon run, especially in the salmon season; he roams through the woods in the berry season and feeds on the toothsome food present in the forest. He unearths the yellow-jacket's scanty storehouse of honey, and consumes it and the larvae of the nest; he invades the farmer's domain and carries offsome of his most promising porkers. The habitat of the brown, and cinnamon bear is the mountains and their foothills. They are not often seen unless you invade their solitary domain. I am not prepared to say what is their principal food, but suppose it to be the same as their kinsman the black bear.
The cougar is a native of this State and can be found where dense thickets and dark forests exist. He is a sly, skulking and treacherous animal, mostly nocturnal in his destructive visitations. I have often gone on a brief hunting-trip into the foothills of the mountains when they were slightly covered with snow, and a dense fog would settle down, obscuring all landmarks; but, in obedience to a safe rule, have retraced my steps to the foot of the hills on my return home. On several of these occasions I have found that a cougar had come upon my trail shortly after I had entered the hills, and had stealthily and continuously followed me up to within seven, or eight rods of the point of my return. When I commenced my return, he, no doubt, leaped off into the covering brush, and, although sharply looked for by me, the dense fog and the thick brush hid him from my view.
The cougar is strictly a carniverous animal. His principal food is the deer; and it is said that he requires two a month for his subsistence. That he is a good feeder is evident from the fact that he is always sleek and in excellent condition. He has a great love for the meat of the colt, and is consequently a terror to breeders in that line. He is not a hater of veal or pork, but does not prefer the latter.
He is generally considered a dangerous animal, and numerous are the stories told of fortunate escapes from his ferocity. Many of these stories haveno foundation other than the surrounding darkness, the rustling of the leaves, or the twigs by the wind, and a lively imagination. While some of these narrations have an element of truth in them, they are generally greatly exaggerated. But let me be understood that when he is pressed by hunger and famished for want of food, I do consider the cougar a dangerous animal. Few, however, are the reliable accounts of his attacks on the lonely traveler in the woods, even under such conditions. Two instances have occurred since my residence in the Puget Sound Basin, which, from my acquaintance with the parties, I am willing to vouch for. A friend temporarily stopping at Mukilteo desired to go to Snohomish City, a distance on an air-line of about six miles; there were two routes—one, by steamer or canoe, of full twice that distance; the other by trail almost directly through a dense forest. Being an expert woodsman, he chose the latter route. He was unarmed, and had not even a pocket knife. He spoke of his defenseless condition on the eve of his departure, but he feared no danger. He had proceeded about a mile-and-a-half on his journey when, in a dense fir and cedar forest, he met a cougar in the trail. The animal commenced stealthily to crawl towards him after the manner of the cat approaching his prey, purring as he came. My friend made a loud outcry, but this did not interrupt the cougar's slow and stealthy approach. It would have been more than useless to run—so he braced himself for the final spring. When the animal came near he stood sideways to the brute; and when the cougar made a spring, he presented his left arm and the cougar seized it midway between the wrist and the elbow, and pushed him hard to throw him off his feet, but failed. Being a strong and muscularman, and his right arm being free, he struck the cougar on the nose, a hard blow with his clenched fist. The cougar, however, kept his hold. Summoning up all his energy, he struck the second blow on the nose of his enemy, and while it drew blood the cougar still held on. Satisfied of the insufficiency of such a mode of defense, and casting his eyes about him, he saw a portion of a cedar limb standing upright in the brush several feet from him—the limb being about two inches in diameter and three feet in length—and he suffered the cougar to push him in the direction of the limb. Having obtained it, he struck the cougar a powerful blow across his face, and, although the cougar winced some, the effect was for the animal to sink his teeth deeper into the imprisoned arm. My friend concentrated all of his energy and struck a second blow with his club. This blow was temporarily stunning and effective. The cougar released his hold on the bleeding arm and, dazed somewhat, disappeared in the surrounding forest. My friend retraced his steps to Mukilteo, now a suburb of the busy and prosperous City of Everett.
One more instance: A gentleman of the name of Cartwright was in former years an extensive logger on the Snohomish River in the Puget Sound basin. At the time of the occurrence I am about to relate, he had a large logging camp about three miles above Snohomish City. There had been a deep fall of snow, and he left his home and went to the logging-camp to see how the operation was affected by the unusual snow. On his return late in the afternoon, he met a large cougar in the snow-beaten trail. The cougar slowly approached him in the manner described in the first instance. Mr. Cartwright was wholly unarmed; he triedto alarm the cougar by a wild outcry, but to no purpose, so far as the cougar was concerned. Some sixty rods away there was a bachelor's cabin. The bachelor had three fierce dogs and they promptly answered Mr. Cartwright's signal of danger; and their master, being at home, urged them to the rescue. When their welcome bay approached, the cougar ceased his purring, stood up, and soon leaped off into the dark forest and disappeared, very much to Mr. Cartwright's relief. He presently reached the river, unmoored his boat, and with the aid of a strong current soon reached his home.
An Experience of My Own
In the summer of 1855, I accompanied a hunting and fishing party, high up into the Cascade Mountains. Our route was along the Santiam River, and we made our final camp, at the west end of a narrow prairie, that stretched along for over a mile at the foot of the mountain ridge, on the south side of the river—a short distance beyond, was the highest table land, or dividing plateau of the mountains. The fishing was excellent—the hunting—it being the month of August, was indifferent; because the black-tailed buck at that season was lying in some sunny spot on the mountain side near water and grass—hardening his horns.
My companions in wandering or climbing along the brush covered sides of the mountains, had several times started a large buck who passed down the sides of the mountains by, to him, a well known but secret trail, and crossed the head of the narrow prairie, and then dashed through the thick brush by an accustomed trail to the river below. The space between this prairie and the river, was a succession of descending benches. These benches had before this time been covered with a very thick growth of fir. When this fir had reached the height of eight or ten feet, a fire ran through, and killed nearly all of it, and another growth of fir had sprung up, making the descent to the river an almost impassable tangled mass. As we were out of venison, it was proposed that I take tworifles and go to the head of this narrow prairie, while my companions should go up on the mountain side, and by the making of a great deal of noise, start this buck from his sylvan retreat, and when he came down the mountain and crossed the upper end of the prairie, I should improve the opportunity to kill him. The plan worked admirably. He came through the thick brush on the mountain side, and dashed across the prairie. When he was nearly opposite to me, I fired at him with my own rifle, but struck him a little too far back. Before I could get the second rifle in my hands, he was in the brush and out of sight. I reloaded my own rifle, and went to the spot where he was when I fired, and I found that he was shot through the lungs, because the blood came out in sprays; and as it came out on both sides the bullet had evidently, passed through him. I followed him up slowly, by crawling through the brush—sometimes on my hands and knees, and at other times, after the manner of a serpent. He stopped frequently. When he did, he left a small pool of blood. My judgment was that the bullet struck him while he was stretched out, and that the skin closed at time over the mouth of the wound; and that he was bleeding internally—I concluded that as soon as he attempted to go down a steep incline, the blood would rush forward and smother him.
I approached a gully or deep ravine, which he must cross, and I carefully kept a big ash tree, that stood on the rim of the gully, between me and the gully. When I arrived at the tree I stealthily looked down into the gully and saw the buck in a small open space, and also a large cougar, standing along his back intently looking at him in the face. I muffledthe cock of my rifle, and soon sent a bullet through the cougar's head. He fell beside the dead buck. Disregarding the safe rule of the hunter, without loading my rifle, I slipped down the steep incline and with the breech of my rifle I straightened out his tail, and was just in the act of pacing to ascertain his length from the tip of his tail to the end of the nose, for that is the hunter's rule for determining the size. Just as I was in the act of doing this, a small quantity of fine white bark fell on me and all around me, I looked up and on a large limb of the ash tree, nearly directly over my head, I saw a female cougar. Her hair was raised up, her back bowed, and her tail rolling. She was crouched for a spring. I kept my eyes upon her, raised my powder-horn to my mouth and pulled out the stopper with my teeth—then felt for the muzzle of the gun and poured until I thought I had powder enough, and soon after found that I did have plenty. I then took a bullet out of my pouch and rammed it down without a patch—dropped the ramrod to the ground and put a cap on the nipple. Then I gently raised the gun towards her, and she showing a good deal of agitation, drew herself up into a menacing attitude as prepared to spring—but I quickly fired and she came from the limb seemingly leaping as though she had not been struck at all. I jumped back a few feet, but her nose brushed me as she was descending to the ground. She fell dead at my feet. I had my hunting-knife in my hand ready to plunge it into her if she moved—but the bullet had done its work effectually.
I have always been of the opinion that I shot her just as she was in the act of making a leap upon me. I loaded my rifle and then crawled to the top of thegully, and my companions soon joined me. I rehearsed my adventure to them, and after so doing, one of them went for a pack-mule, while the others sought out a passable route through the brush to the prairie. The mule protested against his load, but blind-folding allayed his fears.
A Battle Rarely Seen
Late in the fall of 1867, I accompanied the Hon. P. P. Prim, who was District Judge for Jackson and Josephine Counties, Oregon, from Jacksonville to Kerbyville—the county seat of Josephine County—to attend a term of court to be held at Kerbyville in the last named county. The Honorable James D. Fay, and also other lawyers accompanied the Judge to Josephine court. There had been high water and sweeping floods which had rendered the crossing of the Applegate River on the bridge, which was located about two miles above the Applegate's junction with Rogue River, dangerous and impassable. So as we were making the journey on horse back, we crossed Applegate about twenty miles above the bridge and pursued our journey along and over the foothills on the left bank of the river, intending to stop at a hotel on Slate Creek on the left bank of the Applegate, and on the north bank of said creek about two miles from said hotel. Passing across the mouth of a cove in the hills, we heard to our left a noise, and looking in that direction, we saw a female cougar and a mealy-nosed brown bear engaged in a bloody battle. We stopped and watched the fight for about half an hour. The battle ground was on a gentley sloping grass-covered side hill. The bear persistently kept the upper side. The cougar kept in front of him. The cougar was forcing the fighting. The battle proceeded with almost regular rounds. The cougar paced back and forth in front of the bear fora few moments; the bear intently watching her movements, when she would make a spring; the contact was furious. Sometimes they would seize each other with the jaw-hold, and to our astonishment the cougar was more than a match for the bear in this hold, and the bear made every effort to break it—throwing himself upon the ground, and digging furiously into the cougar with the claws of his hind legs. By these means he would speedily break the jaw-hold of the cougar. The hold having been broken, and the combatants having separated, the cougar would pace back and forth in front of the bear for a few moments and then leap upon him again. Sometimes the bear would hug the cougar closely, and use the claws of his hind feet with terrific effect. Thus the fight proceeded. Both were covered with blood. The bear would quietly sit during the intermissions in the fight. As the day was fast waining, we left them still fighting, determining that we would go to Slate creek—cross it—get some rifles from our host, and then return; but when we came to Slate creek, we found it a raging torrent—overflowing its banks, and spreading out over its narrow valley. Our host, anticipating our coming, had selected a place for our crossing of the creek. We had to swim our horses across the dangerous current for some twenty or twenty-five feet, and although we successfully made it, yet we were thoroughly wet. Although our host having hunter's blood in his veins, was anxious to go to the scene of the conflict, yet we so dreaded the crossing and re-crossing of Slate creek that we denied ourselves the pleasure.
On our return about a week afterwards two of us stopped over at our friend's, and went with ourhost out to the battle ground; but we found no trace of either combatant.
On my return to Jacksonville I wrote up and published an account of the battle—it was signed by all who witnessed the fight—but I have not the manuscript nor its copy.
We all had our opinions of the cause of the conflict. The prevailing opinion was that the bear had been interfering with the young of the cougar.
The lynx, and wildcat may be briefly noted. They are both nocturnal marauders. They are rarely seen in the daytime. Either of them located in a dense copse near the ranch or farm, with a forest-reach beyond, is a pestiferous nuisance which must be abated with a gun, dog, or trap, before either lamb, pig, or chicken is safe. I do not believe in poisoning. It is cowardly and dangerous.
The wildcat is an intractable and untamable animal. His ferocity is never softened under the influence of kindly treatment. He is the concentrated embodiment of spite and viciousness. Chained, it is always dangerous to get within the inner circle of the metallic tether. He is the pest of the deer-hunter. There is no mode of hanging up your game, if you leave it in the woods over night, which is safe from the thieving of this ever-hungry marauder.
On two occasions, I have found him seated on the hams or saddle of my suspended venison, and I have shot him. On the last occasion, I did not kill but severely wound him. I approached him. He was fiercely on the warpath and tried to get to me. I put a bullet through his brain and ended his warlike career.
Two species of wolves are natives of Washington—the everywhere present coyote, and the large dark-graywolf of the mountains. The coyote does not in any considerable numbers visit the Puget Sound basin, or tributary country west of the Cascade Mountains. His choice habitat is the sage-brush plain, and the grassy undulations of the great Columbia River basin. The mountains and their rough and sunless canyons are the habitat of the large dark-gray wolf. He also loves the depressions in the high mountain ranges where there exists usually an alternation of marsh and thick forest. His dismal howl may nearly always be heard amid the solemn stillness of these places. It was and still is dangerous to tether or hobble your horse in such a place, as the early immigrants learned to their sorrow. Many a fine animal was hamstrung or seriously wounded. Large packs of these wolves often follow the deer, their usual prey, to the foothills and outlying settlements. While the wolf in this country is not considered an animal dangerous to man, yet, when driven from his mountain home by hunger, and he assembles in packs in the foothills and low grounds, he may be and probably is dangerous. An experienced hunting friend of mine of the name of Taylor lived on a ranch, in the early pioneer days, about a mile south of the now busy and prosperous town of North Bend, in King County. This small but fertile valley in which his pioneer home was located, lay near the base of the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. It was his custom, after a light fall of snow, with his trusty rifle in hand, to mount his favorite riding horse, and, with a pack animal at his side, to go to the timber skirting a prairie adjacent to the foothills, to kill from one to three fat bucks, and to return the same day. On one of these occasions, carefully hunting three or four hours for game, he found nodeer, but saw plenty of wolf tracks. He concluded that there had been an invasion of his hunting ground by mountain wolves, and a departure of the deer for safer feeding grounds. He immediately commenced his return to the trail where his horses were tied. Soon, however, he heard the patter of feet and saw a slight movement in the brush on every side of him. A closer observation showed that he was encircled, by from fifteen to twenty mountain wolves. Although a man of nerve, he confessed that he was somewhat alarmed. His situation was a novel one to him. He had a muzzle loading rifle, as he had always refused to adopt the repeating rifle because of its alleged want of accuracy. As the wolves were slowly contracting the circle surrounding him, he concluded to tree. He did so, taking his rifle up with him. The wolves formed a circle about the tree and, sitting or slowly moving about, looked intently at him as if in expectation of their coming feast. Solemnly contemplating the situation, and its possible dire results, he concluded to try the effect of a shot upon this hungry pack. Quickly suiting the action to the resolve, he sent a bullet crashing through the brain of one of the larger ones. The animal leaped into the air and fell dead. Its companions rushed upon it and fiercely tore its body to pieces. Finding that his first shot was ineffective for rescue and quickly deciding on a theory different from that which prompted the first shot, he sent a bullet into the abdomen, of one of the sitting and waiting animals. This always produces a stinging, writhing and painful wound. The animal struck, leaped into the air, wheeled around several times, and then, with a dismal and alarming howl, started off, his companions with him, on that "long gallop that can tirethe hound's deep hate and the hunter's fire." My friend, thus fortunately relieved from his imprisonment, quickly descended from his perch and hastened with anxious steps to his horses—and then to his home.
The most valuable and useful of all the game family to man, and especially to the pioneer, was and is the deer. Without venison the table of the pioneer would be lacking in one of life's choicest and most sustaining food. Of beef, pork and mutton, in any of their various forms, he had none. The rifle was his purveyor; a table furnished with delicious venison, the realization.
Deer are everywhere to be found in this State, and especially in the wooded country west of the dividing-ridge of the Cascade Mountains. While he likes open ridges and sunny coves as a roaming or feeding-ground, a dense thicket or sylvan bower is the deer's dormitory.
I can say, without a breach of modesty, that I have been a great deer-hunter. I have found him in larger numbers on the islands of the Sound, than elsewhere. On one of these islands, Whidby, I found quite a number of pure white, and also spotted or, to use the popular expression, calico deer. Before this I had doubted somewhat the existance of the pure white deer; but while hunting on that island I came in view of a large five-pronged white buck, a spotted doe—his seeming companion—and two calico fawns. I saw them from ambush, and my first impression was to shoot the buck; but I hesitated, and finally concluded not to do it. After observing them for some time, I alarmed them and they disappeared in the contiguous woods. After their departure, I went to the ranch of a pioneer-friend, and I found that he had in a smallpark a pure white buck and five does—some spotted, and others of the ordinary color. I learned from him that the progeny of the buck in a great majority of cases was of the usual color—sometimes calico, but rarely pure white. I tried to purchase the only pure white fawn—offering fifty dollars for it—but he refused.
Deer were so plentiful in pioneer days, especially on the islands of the Sound, that the pioneer had to fence against them. These fences were from ten to twelve feet in height, and, as one expressed it, made water-tight. The deer is very fond of growing oats, of potatoes, which he readily digs with his sharp hoofs, of cabbage and lettuce, and other products of the field and garden.
The cougar, the wolf and the lynx, the natural enemies and destroyers of the deer for food, do not exist on the islands; hence their large and, if left to natural causes, their constantly increasing numbers.
The deer on the islands of the Sound, as a general rule, are smaller than those on the mainland; and my observation is, that they increase in size as you go back from the shores of the Sound, through the continuous woods, to the foothills and mountain-slopes.
All of the deer in this State belong to what is familiarly known as the black-tailed family. It is not common in the great basin of Puget Sound, including therein all of the country west of the dividing-ridge of the Olympic Range, to find and kill a deer decidedly fat. In Southern Oregon I have killed what was called bench-bucks, as fat as any mutton I ever saw; but the ridges and foothills where they roam were covered with oak timber, which produced an abundant supply ofacorns, of which they are very fond and upon which they plentifully feed. Such food is rich and fattening. There are no oaks or acorns in this State; at most, they are so exceptional as not to deserve notice.
Lingering along the snow-line in the mountains, and ascending and descending with it, is a species of deer known as the mule-deer. He is so called for two reasons: first, many males have dark stripes across their shoulders and the same kind of stripes across the loin; the mule-deer has the same; secondly, the mule-deer has enormous ears, equalling, if not exceeding, in size those of the mule. His head is more like a calf's head than that of a deer. He frequently reaches in weight two-hundred-and-fifty and even three hundred pounds. He is king of the deer family. He is not often shot, as he is known, only, to the hunter and the adventurous pioneer.
This concludes my brief account of the game and other animals of Washington. Well-considered laws have been passed by the Legislature for the protection and preservation of the useful, and for the destruction of the non-useful and dangerous animals. It is hoped that these laws may be thoroughly enforced.
During my residence on the Pacific Coast I have, on invitation, delivered many addresses before Bar Associations, County and State; before Odd Fellows' and Masonic Lodges and Literary Societies. I have pronounced obituary addresses on the life and character of persons of National, State, and local reputation. Many of these I have in manuscript. I give here an address on reminiscences of the Bench and Bar in early days, delivered before the Washington State Bar Association at its meeting in Seattle in July, 1894:
ADDRESS.
"Called upon at the eleventh hour to fill the place of one well qualified by education, by experience and by a wider and more extended observation than myself in the field of legal reminiscences, I feel some-what the embarrassment of the situation. The Committee showed the highest appreciation of the fitness of things and of persons, when they made my friend, now recreating in the sunny clime of California, their first choice for the pleasing task now, unfortunately for the Association, devolved upon me. It is a case of devolution, not evolution. I possess not that gravity of countenance, nor that dignity of demeanor, nor that solemnity of vocal utterance, so necessary to give full zest even to a well-told tale. My absent friend possesses these qualities in a high degree.
"In every new and sparsely-settled country there is always a closer social intercourse between the Bench and the Bar, and a greater freedom of utterance, than in after-years. When population increases to the dimensions of a Commonwealth, and costly Court Houses are built, there is connected with every Court-room, a sort of 'holy of holies,' from which the Judge emerges in the morning and, after the crier performs his duties, into which he enters at night. This may, and probably does, aid in the dispatch of business, but it operates as an effectual curtailment of that free-and-easy social intercourse which once existed. We rarely see the Judge now except when he is fully clad with judicial thunder. I do not know that I desire a full return of the customs of other days, but I would, if I could, check this tendency to social isolation.
"In those good old days, my absent friend was discussinga motion before his Honor, Judge Greene, involving the question of whether certain alleged facts amounted to fraud. In support of his contention, my friend was reading copious extracts fromBrowne on the Statute of Frauds. In doing so, he was constantly calling that author's name Brown-e? 'Why do you call that name Brown-e?' asked the Judge. 'It is spelled,' answered our friend, with charming gravity, 'B-r-o-w-n-e; if that is not Brow-ne, I would like to know what it does spell?' 'I spell my name,' said the Judge, 'G-r-e-e-n-e. You would not call me Gree-ne, would you?' 'That depends,' replied our friend, 'on how your Honor decides this motion.' The Judge waived the contempt and joined in a general laugh.
"It is a delicate matter to discuss the qualities, mental and otherwise of a living and honored brother, and I hope to be pardoned for the following: Wit and humor, though distinct, are often confounded. The grave and solemn man is often full of humorous conceptions. He suppresses their utterance sometimes with difficulty. He consumes them in an internal feast of pleasure. It is an exhilerating, but lonely feast. In this there may be a tinge of selfishness; but we will not condemn. But when he opens the mental throttle and allows them to flow forth, they give pleasure to all and continue as a pleasant and fragrant memory. Judge Greene, though not a wit, is full of humor. His description of an 'Inspector afloat,' in an Admiralty case in this then District, in which he contrasted what an Inspector afloat ought to do and see with what this Inspector did not do or see, is an admirable specimen of genuine humor. I believe that it was published at the time, but I presume that only a few of my hearers have ever seen it. It ought to be republished. It isworth preserving. It was possibly this latent trait in the Judge's mental constitution that led to the following scene:
"There was an attorney at Steilacoom, where Court was then held, of the name of Hoover. He was a bright, active young man, but his chirography resembled, in illegibility if not in form, the Egyptian hieroglyphics. He filed for a client an answer to a complaint. The Honorable Frank Clark, attorney for the plaintiff, demurred to it, because it did not state facts sufficient to constitute a defence; in fact, did not state anything; that if it did, it was wholly illegible and past finding out. As soon as Mr. Clark had finished reading his demurrer, the Judge, who prided himself on his ability to read all forms of handwriting, asked Mr. Clark to hand the answer to him, saying that he thought he could read it. It was handed up to the Judge. He read the first line in the body of the answer all right, but utterly broke down on the second line. He scaned the remainder of the answer deliberately and with care, then handed it to Mr. Hoover, asking him to read it; the Judge meantime watching him with an intensified if not admiring gaze. When Mr. Hoover had finished the Court said, 'Mr. Hoover, hold up your hand.' Mr. Hoover did so, and in that solemn position the Court swore Mr. Hoover as to the correctness and truthfulness of his interpretation of that answer. Mr. Hoover has since left the profession of law and gone into the more lucrative business of banking. On account of the unjust criticism sometimes made on my own hand-manual, I feel inclined to treat him kindly.
"There may be a dash of theegoin the following reminiscences, but it will be seen that I was but theincident or subordinate actor, or more the victim, than otherwise.
"While the Third was my Judicial District, I was ordered by the Legislature of 1869 and 1870 to hold Court in the Second as well. The docket at Vancouver, for various causes not necessary for me to mention, had become very much clogged. There were over two hundred cases, civil and criminal, awaiting trial. The Legislature gave me six weeks to clear up that Docket. I went to Vancouver a little out of humor from the imposition of double duties, but with the determination to accomplish the task within the alloted time, if continued and sharp work would do it. I made myself something of a judicial tyrant during that term. I ran Court from eight o'clock in the morning, with evening sessions often extending until twelve o'clock at night. Motions and demurrers were read, and I heard only the party against whom I was inclined to rule on the reading. I took nothing under advisement. I limited the time of address to juries, adjusting the time according to the importance of the case and the character of the rights involved. The local and visiting Bar showed their appreciation of the situation and wasted no needless time in the direct, or cross-examination of witnesses. We finished up our work on the last day of the alloted time, and of all that mass of cases heard and finally determined at that time, not one was taken to the Supreme Court.
"Quite a number of amusing incidents occured that tended to relieve the monotony and lighten the burden of our labors. By your permission, I will relate one.
"A man had been indicted for a grievious assault and battery. The alleged place of the assault was in the woods near the northern limits of the town. Thesecond witness for the prosecution was a school teacher from Washougal. He was a tall and lank man, with high cheek bones, sunken cheek and eyes, and sandy hair. He had about him an air of conscious superiority. After he had been sworn, he advanced to the witness-stand which was directly to my right. Before he took his seat, however, he courteously bowed to me and, with a dignified waive of his hand, saluted the Court. The following was his description of the assault and battery:
"'The prosecuting witness was sitting calmly and sedately on a log, when the prisoner approached with stealthy yet intrepid, steps, until he approximated in close proximity to his person, sir'—The Court interrupted: 'If you can get along without making a stump speech, we will be very much obliged to you.' 'Thank your Honor,' he responded. 'Proceed,' said the Court. 'As I was remarking, the prosecuting witness was sitting calmly and sedately on a log, when the prisoner approached with stealthy, yet intrepid, steps, until he approximated in close proximity to his person, sir, when he reached forth his digits and fastened them in the capillary filaments of the prosecutor's head, and then, with a tremendous jerk, laid him prone and prostrate on the ground; then he lifted his heel high in air and sent it with such force and violence into the countenance of the prosecutor that it has left an impression indelible to this day, sir.' 'That will do,' said the Court; 'You can go.' He arose with a courteous bow to the Court and a wave of his right hand towards the Bar, said: 'Thank your Honor for releasing me from the impertinence of these attorneys.' And he proudly walked out of that court house. The Court surrenderedits dignity for a time and joined in the storm of laughter.
"Pierce County, now a model of intellectual and moral progress, with a thrifty, energetic and law-abiding population, was, in early Territorial days, a hotbed of local feuds frequently resulting in homicide. She had no Tacoma, then, to control the spirit of lawlessness and to teach her citizens that life's truer conflicts are different, and nobler. This County was in the Third Judicial District, over whose Courts I had the honor to preside for six years. At one of these terms of Court a man of the name of Walker was indicted for the murder of his nearest neighbor. Walker and his said neighbor were both unmarried and lived in cabins not far apart. Both were stock-raisers, and both were well advanced in years. No one saw the killing and it was, therefore, a case of circumstantial evidence.
"The body of the neighbor, when found, lay near a gate that entered Walker's pasture-field, and the right side, from the shoulder down to a point opposite to the navel, was perforated with shot. I will not attempt to state the circumstances on which the prosecution relied; suffice it to say, they pointed with a good deal of force to the guilt of the accused; but I will not say, in opposition to the verdict of the jury that they excluded every hypothesis of innocence. The prisoner was ably defended by Judge Wyche, James McNaught, Irving Ballard and Gov. Wallace. The Honorable C. M. Bradshaw was the prosecuting attorney, and he was ably assisted by the Hon. Frank Clark. The trial occupied the attention of the Court for four days. On the second day of the trial, a lady tastefully dressed, but closely veiled, entered the Court with the prisoner's counsel, and, when the prisoner came, took a seat byhis side. She was evidently a stranger, and 'who is she?' was on the lips of everyone. At the noon recess it was learned that she was the daughter of the prisoner. Day by day she appeared, took her accustomed seat, and remained a silent and mournful listener to the damaging testimony given against her father. At noon of the fourth day I thought the testimony was all in. At the call of the Court after recess I was somewhat astonished by the announcement of Judge Wyche that he wished to put one more witness on the stand. I was still more surprised when he asked, this daughter, to take the witness-stand. She moved across the room in front of the large audience in a dignified and graceful manner, her face still veiled. Before she was sworn, Judge Wyche requested her to remove her veil, and she did so, revealing a countenance beautiful, intelligent and sorrowful. Judge Wyche asked her to state her age. She answered, twenty-four. Ques. 'What relation are you if any, to the prisoner?' 'He is my father.' Ques. 'Before you came here, how long had it been since you last saw your father?' Ans. 'About fifteen years.' Ques. 'Are you married?' Ans. 'I am.' Ques. 'What is the object of your visit here?' This question was objected to, but I let it go in. 'I came,' she said, 'to persuade my aged father to go back and live with me in my eastern home, so that I could smooth his pathway to the tomb with a daughter's love and affection; but to my sorrow and astonishment, when I arrived I found him on trial for his life.' She was about to proceed, but the Court stopped her. Then Judge Wyche said: 'I want to ask you one more question. I presume that it will be objected to and you need not answer until the Court permits you to do so. Taking into consideration all that you have statedand all that you may know in the past, as well as in the present, of your father, what is your opinion of his sanity?' 'We object,' came quick and sharp from Mr. Clark; but, as he did not arise to argue the objection, Judge Wyche made a clear and cogent argument in favor of the admisability of the testimony, admitting that the authorities were in conflict, but claiming that the better reason was in favor of its admission. In conclusion, he repeated the testimony of the witness and drew a brief but pathetic picture of her melancholly condition. His emotion seemed to intensify as he proceeded, until they became too great for utterance, and he resumed his seat amid the profound silence of the court-room.
"Frank Clark, who had watched this performance with the keen eye of an connoisseur, immediately arose to reply. He did not waste much time on the legal proposition, but addressed himself to the concluding portion of Judge Wyche's argument. He said the learned counsel for the defendant, had drawn a pathetic and melancholly picture; then with a voice trembling with seeming emotion, he asked: 'Did the learned counsel say anything about the poor, lone man who fell on yonder plain, pierced by many cruel shots, with no daughter near to receive his last blessing or to close his eyes, fast glazing in death?' Seemingly overcome with emotion, he resumed his seat, but no sooner had he done so than he put his hand to the corner of his mouth and said to the prosecuting attorney, in a stage whisper, distinctly audible in most of the room: 'I guess they did not beat us much in that game,'