A Widow’s Armed Vigil at the Grave
After her husband’s suspicious death, a Seattle woman takes up arms to stop authorities from disturbing his remains.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
July 12—Mrs. Dwars, wife of the late Patrick Dwars, decided to find out just how serious the injuries were that led to her husband’s death. She and two doctors went out to the grave and had it exhumed. The examination showed that two ribs were broken, the side was bruised, and the right arm was badly bruised, resulting in inflammation. Upon returning to the city, she went to the assistant prosecuting attorney, but he did not act. Mrs. Dwars stated, 'I told him that if the county or anybody else attempted to dig him up, I would shoot them.' Yesterday, the county decided to act, but she refused to allow it, taking matters into her own hands. She went to the cemetery, which is six miles from the city, accompanied by Capt. Dwars. When doctors arrived to perform a second post-mortem, Mrs. Dwars appeared with a horse whip in one hand and a revolver in the other, commanding them to leave. When Dr. Merrill attempted to proceed, Mrs. Dwars said coolly, 'You touch that body and I will shoot you in a minute.' The doctors returned to the city and swore out warrants for assault with a deadly weapon. Mrs. Dwars has vowed to remain at the grave night and day, and she is currently being pursued by three deputy sheriffs.
“You touch that body and I will shoot you in a minute.”
This standoff highlights the visceral, often violent nature of local justice in the 1890s, when citizens took matters into their own hands before the bureaucratic machinery of the county was fully cemented. The intensity of the grief and the willingness to defend a grave with a pistol reflects a time when the sanctity of the body was a major point of civic friction.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.