Reminisces of Old Times on Puget Sound
By Edward Huggins
Washington Standard
August 24, 1900

The road from Tacoma to Olympia passed through the well-known farm, or what is now generally known as the "Huggins Ranch." The homestead in about 16 miles from Tacoma and 14 from Olympia. Puget Sound is only one and one-quarter miles west of the house, or about two and a half miles above the landing or anchorage for ships. The Nisqually river, which is about the same size as the Puyallup, debouches into Puget Sound immediately opposite the southeast corner of Anderson's Island.

The newcomer, riding along the high road, the first ever made in this country through the fenced fields, and by the quiet, picturesque-looking old homestead, would, no doubt, be surprised when told that it is the most historical spot north of Fort Vancouver, on the Columbia river, and was not so very long ago a place of importance and the principal business site of Puget Sound; that, 50 years ago, it was a strongly constructed fort, well manned and armed, and that upward of 50 hands, white men, Kanakas (Sandwich Islanders) and Indians, comprised its garrison.

The Nisqually Indians (the Squallyamish tribe) were then quite numerous, and in the Spring of 1850 a large number of lodges were in the open, west of the fort and on the banks of the little river, bearing the euphonious name of the " Sequalitchew," which takes its rise in a lake of the same name, about three-quarters of a mile in a straight line to the eastward of the fort, and after running with great swiftness through a ravine or gulch, nearly as wild and savage looking as any to be seen in the Cascade range of mountains, on the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad, for about a mile, empties into Puget Sound, about one third of a mile below the landing place.

Between the bridge which crosses the stream, near the fort, and the high-water mark, about one mile in a straight line, there is a fall of 202 feet. These figures are correct, having been obtained from Captain James Lawson, the head of the United States geodetic survey upon Puget Sound, in 1870. In the spring of that year he made the Nisqually Landing his headquarters and for nearly two months his vessel, the Fauntleroy, remained at anchor there. Along with other work he leveled the Sequalitchew river or creek, from the bridge, near the fort, to high-water mark, and he found the fall to be 202 feet.

Forty-five years ago the fort looked very different from what it looks now. In fact, a stranger would not for a moment think it had ever been the scene of so much bustle and activity. There is only one of the old buildings erected by the Hudson's Bay Company left standing. It is after the old style adopted by the company where timber was plentiful. The walls are of fir timber, squared with the ax, and the frame is stout and generally not less than 10 or 12 inches square, and the walls of squared fir, about 10 or 12 inches wide and six inches thick.

The floor is either boards cut with the pit saw, driven by man power, or else puncheons, with one side squared only, with the ax. The roofs were generally covered with cedar bark, cut into sheets, about 10 feet long, and from 18 to 30 inches wide. Why this bark was used in preference to cedar shingles, or shakes, I never could find out. Bark roofs always gave trouble, and required repairing every fall. The rough, or outside of the bark, was always exposed to the weather.

Soon after I came to Fort Nisqually, all the bark roofs were replaced with cedar shingles, or shakes, which make an infinitely better roof than cedar bark. A roof of well-made, good cedar shakes, carefully nailed on, ought to last 45 or 50 years, and shingles from 20 to 30 years, and at the end would leak but very little. The " Huggins" residence, which replaced the old "Tyee House," or chief's house, was built in 1853, of sawed lumber, obtained from the first water-power mill constructed upon Puget Sound, a small affair, with only, at first, one up-and-down saw. The lumber cost from $30 to $40 a thousand.

It is a strongly constructed house, 50 feet by 30, and one story in height, with a wide veranda around three sides of it. The work was done principally by a skilled mechanic, a discharged United States soldier, but under him worked a number of rough carpenters; French Canadians, Kanakas and Indians. Some of the Indians became expert in the use of tools, and one especially, named Gohome, bade fair to become a good mechanic. All the work of this house, and another of a similar kind, only smaller, was done by hand, as there were no machines invented for making doors, sash, etc., at that early date.

The old house, built in the old Hudson's Bay style, was about 40x20 feet, and was erected on the site of the old fort in 1833 or 1834, which stood on a pretty clear plateau, about one-quarter of a mile from the Sound, and in 1841, or thereabouts, was moved to the new fort, on the edge of the large plain or prairie, which bears the name of " American Plain," or " Boston illahie," so called by the Indians because the American or United States troops were located at the northeast end of the plain.

The Hudson's Bay Company's servants were called" King George Tillicum" (King George people or Englishmen). The old "Tyee House" was, in those days, considered to be quite a palatial residence, although to the man just out from one of the world's leading cities, it appeared to be what it really was, a wretchedly uncomfortable house. It contained only two rooms. The dining-room was about 15 or 18 feet long and 12 feet wide, and there was one smaller room, used as a bedroom.

A still smaller room was built on the south end. The large room has been the scene of many stirring events and several men, principally United States Army officers, who afterwards rose to eminence, have sat at its board. President Grant, Generals McClellan, Casey, Pickett, Kautz, Issac Stevens, and several others, the names of whom I have forgotten, have been entertained in that shabby-looking old house Theodore Winthrop, the author of
"Canoe and Saddle," made two visits to the fort. He made, in 1853, a canoe trip to Victoria along with Dr. Tolmie and his wife, and the latter's sister, Miss Work.

The return trip he made alone, and the adventures he met with, and the trouble he had with his Indian crew, at the head of which was the Duke of York, the eldest son of King George, the chief of the Clallams, and the Duke's wife, " Jin Lin," (Jennie Lind), is most amusingly told in his book. Up till 1854 the only means of communication the people of Fort Nisqually had with the colonists of Vancouver Island was by canoe. The company owned a large Northern Indian war canoe about 50 feet long, and 6 or 7 feet wide, which would carry at least 40 people, and this canoe made almost semi-monthly trips to Victoria with the mail, which was brought across the country from Fort Vancouver by express messenger.

The wife of Edward Huggins, now residing at the old place (Fort Nisqually), has made 6 trips by canoe to Victoria. During all this time of canoe-traveling not a single life was lost, although some of the trips were exceeding dangerous. The canoe was always manned by a crew of skilled hands, thorough masters of canoe-sailing. This mode of traveling remained in vogue until September, 1854, when the steamer Major Tompkins arrived from San Francisco at Steilacoom, en route for Olympia.

She was in command of Captain Hunt, and was owned by Captain John Scranton, who had obtained a contract for carrying the mail weekly between Olympia and Victoria, calling at all intermediate ports. This made the trip very long, and the old rattletrap of a steamer occupied nearly a week in making the voyage. Her charges were high, passage to Victoria, $20 going and the same returning. Freight, $10 per ton; cattle, $10 a head, and she charged $600 for towing a ship from Nisqually Landing to Port Townsend.

She was an ugly-looking craft, very slow, and always unreliable, (she was known by the locals as the Pumpkins), and remained on the route but a few years. She was wrecked one dark, stormy night, trying to enter Victoria Harbor, and was a total loss. No lives were lost. Another boat, a propeller, named the Constitution, Captain A. B. Gove, took her place. She was a boat much superior in every respect to the old Tompkins, and the Sound soon had steamboats enough, and a few to spare.

Resuming my story: The old house stood until a few years ago, when, on account of its dilapidated state, it was pulled down, and its old timbers used for firewood. Several people have expressed regret that the old building was not carefully taken down, removed to and re-erected in Wright Park, Tacoma, and, perhaps, it is a pity it was not done. It could have been moved and put up again for about $50, and I am quite sure that its owner would have cheerfully donated and assisted in its re-erection.

There was no doubt about its being the first house constructed north of Fort Vancouver. In 1856 there were quite a number of Indians employed about the fort and one in particular, a Nisqually named Gohome, of whom I have previously made mention, who was a handy man at any kind of work. He was a very ugly man, had a large, hideous mouth, savage-looking features, and long, coarse, black hair. He was strongly built, although not a large man, was quiet in his demeanor, when sober, but when under the influence of liquor, of which he was inordinately fond, he was a perfect fiend, in looks and actions.

One day in the early 1850s he got into a quarrel with some Indians from down the Sound, who had come to the fort for the purpose of settling a grievance of long standing between Gohome's people and themselves. Gohome, when they arrived, was employed in the company's old slaughterhouse, and a messenger from his lodge informed him of the arrival of his enemies. He immediately threw down his tools and started for the encampment, but had proceeded but a few steps when he met the party coming to interview him.

There were 5 or 6 of them, and 4 or 5 of Gohome's people. A conversation ensued which soon became fierce and bitter. Hard words were used, and Gohome, feeling himself attacked almost in his own house, aimed a blow at the leader of the Snoqualmies, I think they were of that tribe, and almost immediately both sides were mixed up in a fearful, bloody fight. Each man was armed with the Indian's favorite weapon, a knife, or dagger, made from a 12 or 14-inch mill saw file, ground down sharp on two edges, and to a fine dagger-like point.

A knife of this kind is a fearful weapon, and being rather heavy, when wielded by a strong man does fearful and bloody execution. The participants in the fight were soon covered with blood, and it wasn't long before 2 or 3 of them fell from the effects of their wounds. The ground upon which they were struggling was covered with blood, and after a while the bystanders were enabled to seize the combatants and disarm them. Strange to say Gohome, although the most forward in the fight, and wounded in many places, did not die, but after suffering a great deal, apparently, fully recovered. Around 2 or 3 of the others, though, succumbed from the effects of the fearful wounds they received.

No more was heard from the attacking party until the summer of 1858, at which time I was living at the "Mucla" house, having gone out to take charge of the company's business during the Indian War, and the occurrence I am about to relate was told me by an eye-witness, a day or two after it happened. On the night of Sunday, May 30, 1858, the Indians living outside of the fort were greatly exercised over the report that a small party of Snoqualmies had arrived at the beach, and it appears that during the evening 4 or 5 of them came up to the fort encampment and were recognized as being the same party, or, at least, some of them, with whom Gohome had the awful trouble, as just related.

It would seem that they pretended to have come on a friendly visit, and from what followed, it is supposed that they brought liquor with them, for, about the middle of the night, the people were alarmed by the report of firearms in the camp, and the usual noises attending a drunken orgy in the aboriginal encampment. The usual result followed, and a terrible fight ensued. Gohome shot one of the Snoqualmies dead, and he himself received two fearful stabs from a knife, but was not killed.

An Indian woman was also badly cut with a knife. She was a relation of Gohoine's and received the stabs while endeavoring to protect him. Some of the other Indians were severely wounded, but the Snoqualmie was the only person killed during the fight. How many afterwards died of wounds received I cannot now say, having forgotten the details of the affair. That which I have just related was brought to mind by my having read the account of it as noted in the journal of occurrences that was kept at the fort. The surviving Snoqualmies made their escape to the timber, and it was supposed gained their canoe, and soon placed some distance between themselves and the Sequalitchew.

But the Nisquallys were woefully mistaken in thinking themselves safe, as they soon found to their sorrow. The cook at the fort, or one of the cooks, for there was generally more than one, was a Snohomish Indian named Cush. However, he was a jolly, good-natured Indian, full of fun, when not full of whisky, and was liked by every one, whites and Indians. On the day after the fight, and after a hot time in the kitchen, Cush, feeling tired, went to the corner house of a row standing upon the north side of the fort, and in which some of the workingmen lived, and threw himself upon a bed, with the intention of sleeping.

There was no one else in the house, which was about 25 or 30 feet front the veranda of the newly erected principal house (the "tyee" house). Mrs. Tolmie, the wife of Dr. Tolmie, the gentleman in charge of the establishment at that time, was standing on the veranda, and saw Cush enter. The place was exceedingly quiet, as almost all of its inhabitants were lying down, taking it easy. It was the custom or the place to rest for two or three hours, in the middle of the day during the heated term, and make up for it by working as soon as daylight appeared in the morning.

Well, to continue my story; Mrs. Tolmie noticed an Indian, a stranger to her, sneak through the open, small postern gate, on the north side of the fort, and, gun in hand, quietly creep along the side of the house in which Cush was lying. Not for a moment thinking of the purpose of the Indian, she remained quiet until she saw him peer into the window, raise his gun, already cocked, and point at something in the room. She then, fearing the intruder meant no good, screamed out, just as the gun was discharged. Poor Cush was shot fatally, and died a day or two afterwards.

The murderer immediately ran out of the fort, and after him ran a young half-breed Iroquois, named Ignace, with a a gun. He fired, and, it is supposed, hit the escaping Indian, but the latter didn't fall; with his three or four companions who were awaiting him at the beach with a canoe he succeeded in getting safely away. They gained their own country, down the Sound, where our up-Sound Indians dare not follow them. Cush was regretted by all with whom he was acquainted, for he was really a remarkable Indian, possessing a fund of humor, and powers of mimicry, seldom seen among Indians.

He had a way of speaking broken English which was irresistibly funny, and the poor fellow's tragic death was a loss, hard indeed to replace, and some of us had serious thoughts of perpetuating his memory, by the erection of a little monument or headstone; but, like the generality of such good intentions, this was never done. It was afterwards ascertained that the killing of Cush was a mistake. The Indian mistook him for Gohome, and I never learned how the feud ended. Gohome strange to say, was not killed, but died a natural death, accelerated, no doubt, by the many wounds he had received during his lifetime.

It is astonishing what an amount of cutting-up the human frame can stand, so long as a vital part is not touched. I have seen men here, Indians and Kanakas, apparently cut to death, but, after a great deal of suffering, which the Indian medicine men no doubt augmented, without the assistance of a white doctor, fully recover. I recollect one case, in particular, which occurred in 1853 or 1854. A big, burley Kanaka, named Kalama, a good man at almost any kind of rough work, and, ordinarily, well behaved, was one of a party of Kanakas and Indians taking part in a jollification, during which a great deal of liquor was consumed, and the party became uproariously drunk.

As usual, a fight ensued, the Indians taking sides against the Kanakas. The English workmen, at that time only 3 or 4 in number, feeling themselves in the minority, and suspecting what the result of the spree would be, kept aloof from the crowd. One of the Indians, not a servant of the company, named Gukynum, or " Cut-Faced Charlie," so called because of his face having been cut in the many fights, tackled the big six-foot Kanaka, and with the aid of his awful knife, came within an ace of killing him.

Before, however, he quite accomplished it. Kalama was pulled away and Charlie was secured. Kalama was a frightful-looking object; his nose was nearly severed from his face, and his features were rendered unrecognizable by the many cuts he had received. Luckily the Indian didn't attempt to stab him about the body, or else he would have made short work of him. The poor Kanaka was taken into Dr. Tolmie's office, where he was attended to, his nose washed and sewed on, and the other cuts nicely stitched.

After the lapse of some time he fully recovered but his good looks were completely gone, and he showed, very plainly, the treatment he had received. For several years in the '50s, an old Scotchman, a superannuated old servant of the Hudson Bay Company, a man upwards of 70 years of age, and afflicted with blindness, was living in a house on the side hill, near the company's store on the beach, at the anchorage, with his Indian wife and daughter, the latter about 10 or 12 years old. The old man was hearty and hale and remarkably fine-looking.

He was tall and well made, with a florid complexion and long, silvery hair. In his younger days he had been in the employ of the East India Company. For several years he bad been a ship's carpenter in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, and until about 1847 he was stationed at Fort Vancouver. He worked at boat building and repairing principally. The company had quite a fleet of large river craft, used in the transportation of goods and furs, and this gave the old carpenter and his mates constant employment, building and keeping the boats in repair.

He also built a small schooner, named the Prince of Wales, at Vancouver, and this vessel ran on the Columbia river for many years between Vancouver and Astoria, doing any and every kind of freighting required. She, at last, wore herself out, and the remains of the Prince could be seen for many years, sticking on a sandbar near the mouth of the Cowlitz river. "Old Jimmie" (his name was James Scarth) was very proud of his handiwork, and considered the Prince of Wales a masterpiece of marine architecture.

Many people, though, thought her a very ugly dry-goods-box-like craft, more like a barge than a ship, and I have no doubt that there are people now living in Oregon who recollect the old tub and its builder. "Jimmie" was a regular Munchausen and was full of stories about his life In India and on the Columbia river. There were not many people in the country in his time, and I have known more than one settler to travel some miles to stay a night with Jimmie for the purpose of listening to his wonderful yarns about snakes he had killed in India, all the way from 10 to 50 feet in length, and of the number of Burmese he had cut down with his cutlass, for the old chap said he was all through the Burmese War.

Of course, Jimmie's visitors always took with them a supply of liquids to limber up the old fellow's tongue. One day, during the heated term, in 1854, 1 think it was, I was at work in the trade shop, when I was startled by the appearance of an Indian who, in an agitated manner, told me that the Indians at the beach -there was always a large encampment there in those days -in a drunken frenzy, had broken into Scarth's house and stolen some whiskey the old chap had on hand. They were also threatening to kill him.

Directing 4 or 5 of the white workmen to follow me to the beach, and not waiting for horses to be driven up, which would have taken half an hour at least, we started on foot for the scene of action. When we reached the summit of the hill we heard a noise, and loud talking and swearing in English and Indian. I was the fleetest runner of our party, and gained Jimmie's house a little ahead of the others. I saw a crowd of Indians around old Scarth, who was standing at the door with his shirt torn from his back, and blood streaming from his face. He was struggling with "Cut-Face Charlie," whom I saw aim a blow at the old man with an ax, and strike him on the back, luckily with the back of the weapon.

Before he could strike another blow, I struck Charlie a heavy blow from the shoulder, as I ran between him and the old man, knocking Charlie senseless. The Englishman accompanying me now came up, and I had hard work to prevent them from killing Charlie. The other Indians did not interfere; in fact, I think they were pleased to see Charlie mastered for once, when in one of his murderous fits. I ordered the men to bind Charlie, and the cart from the fort now appearing he was dumped into it and hauled to the fort and confined in one of the bastions. Old Scarth was terribly bruised about the back and face, but his injuries were not fatal.

It was partly the old man's fault. He had drunk too much liquor, and the Indian, Charlie, had obtained liquor from him, and upon the old man's refusal to give him a further portion of his supply, the fight was the result. If I had not arrived in the nick of time, Scarth would assuredly have been chopped to pieces. The next morning Mr. Charlie received a flogging which, I think, did him a great deal of good, as I never heard of him afterwards attacking any white man.