The Ghost of the Puyallup Valley
A traveling account reveals a local man's elaborate deception, as his supposedly dead family is found alive and well at the Puyallup station.
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.
About two weeks ago we returned from a trip on foot from Steilacoom to Seattle, in which enough information was gathered about the Puyallup and the head of the settlements on White and Green river. People here well remember John C. Harbin and family who removed from this river to Shoalwater Bay in May 1874, where they did exceedingly well for two years. Harbin induced his wife to go with their five children on a visit to her people in Nebraska, and on her return, she was to visit his relatives in California, where he was to join them. About one year ago we met Harbin on the Zephyr. He then told a very sad story about going to Nebraska and of the death of his wife and all his children there. This account we published. Judge of our surprise on meeting Mrs. Harbin and her oldest daughter at Puyallup station. She had buried one boy, Georgie, who died March 29th, and one child did die in Nebraska. They were going to rejoin the rest near Olympia. It seems that Harbin, as soon as he was rid of his family, sold out and went through with everything he had with whiskey, cards, and fast women, and he told this story for a blind. Mrs. H. always bore an excellent reputation, and had been the mother of eight children for him and they had always lived happily together.
“Judge of our surprise on meeting Mrs. Harbin and her oldest daughter at Puyallup station... and he told this story for a blind.”
This story of a husband 'vanishing' his family to pursue a life of dissipation mirrors the timeless, often tragic, local news reports of domestic abandonment. Even in 1879, the community’s shock at discovering a public lie highlights the thin line between reputation and reality in small Washington frontier towns.
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