The Hanging Party That Wasn't: Puget Sound's First Murder Arrest

Mr. Morris, who came to the Sound thirty-five years ago, was regaling some friends with stories of the past. “I remember the first man ever arrested in these parts for murder, for I arrested him myself at Port Blakely,” he said. “A British ship, the Marius, was loading lumber at the mills for Melbourne. I and some more fellows were in the hold stowing the timber. The mate was a big fellow named Butler, and the stevedore was a young man named Smith. He was a Southerner, 21 years old, and the son of an Episcopal clergyman—a mighty nice fellow, but he had an awful mean temper. The mate was down in the hold most of the time, and Smith and he kept rowing. Smith claimed the stevedore was the man to boss the hold, while Butler swore it was the mate's duty. They abused each other, and the mate called him all kinds of dirty names. Smith, after a while, didn't say much, but just watched. By and by the mate went on deck, and Smith sneaked out and followed him. The mate went to the forecastle. The ship was moored in slack, but the lines were pulling taut. The mate put one foot on the port beam spring and looked down, and Smith came up behind him and hit him a crack on the head with a force-pump bar. I was right there and saw the whole thing, for I thought all along something was going to happen.

“The mate fell back on the forecastle, and then Smith hit him another crack, smashing his head flat to the deck and spattering his brains all around. Me and Jack Morris were on the forecastle in a second, and I said: ‘Smith, hold on!’

“Smith then said he would go over to Mrs. Benton's drug store and get some camphor to revive him. Just then Clifford Parker—everybody knows Cliff; he used to be mate on the steamers here for years—came on deck and said: ‘No, by —— he don't go for any camphor; we'll hang him.’

“But Smith was already gone. When he came back we had a rope over a yard and had it all made up to hang him, for he deserved it. We saw him murder Butler from behind, and in those days everything was loose and we just took things in our own hands. When Smith came back I said to him: ‘Smith, we're going to hang you!’

“He looked at the rope and then at all of us, dropped the camphor, and big tears came out of his eyes. ‘Boys, you're not going to hang me, are you?’ he said.

“I said that was just what we were going to do. He said he guessed he'd have to die, and he cried out once more; but he was a manly fellow. We took hold of him and tied him, and just then the captain jumped aboard, all excited, and yelled: ‘Don't kill him! Let the law take its course!’

“I have heard that same captain say many a time since that he wished to heaven he'd let us alone, for then Smith would have been hung. He was never hung. We put him in irons and took him to Seattle in a small boat, and he tried to upset the boat and drown us twice coming over. We turned him over to Sheriff Wyckoff. Smith was tried, and I don't know what they didn't do to him; but the lawyers held out, and Smith was kept in the old jail at Steilacoom for three years, until one day they came there and Smith was set free.

“Two years afterward, when I was going by Charley's hardware store in this town, they called me in and said there was money in the store for me and Charley to pay our way to Hastings' mill, on Burrard Inlet, British Columbia, and load a ship for Sydney with lumber. Charley had been there when we tried to hang Smith. We went up to the wharf, and the first man we saw was Smith. He just grinned when he saw us and said: ‘Hello, you d—d wharf rats, how are you?’ He asked whether we would work for him, and we said yes. He seemed happier to see us than words could tell, and kept on talking as if he had forgotten all about the hanging party.”