USA > Washington > Walla Walla County > An illustrated history of Walla Walla County, state of Washington > Part 36
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Probably no one knows and remembers more concerning those tragic days than Mr. Richard Bogle, who is to-day living in Walla W'alla. In the early days he kept a barber shop on Maine street, where Miss Beine's mil- linery store is now located. In those days the citizens of the place made it rather hard for men of African descent. A negro could not get a room at a hotel. He was not allowed to eat in a public dining room. Ile could not buy a cigar or a drink in a gin room without first taking off his hat and showing due rev- erence to the august vendor of the booze. Consequently it was customary for Mr. Bogle, out of the kindness of his heart, to allow col- ored strangers who happened to be in the town to occupy the rear of his shop, where they could keep warm and sometimes cook a meal.
Among the sojourners in the rear of Bo- gle's barber shop was a young negro about twenty years of age, very tall and slender, but with muscles like steel. He had been dubbed with the appropriate title of "Slim Jim." He was a sort of pet among the gamblers and sporting men of the community, having been brought up as a general roustabout for the horse men, jockeys and sports.
Two men had just garroted a man in the lot back of Charles Roe's saloon. This means that when that man was walking along he suddenly felt himself seized from behind and his arms securely pinioned, while in front his startled gaze fell upon a man with a long knife, ready to slit· him open if he offered resistance. Thus at the pleasure of the rob- bers he was soon relieved of any gold dust or other valuables that he possessed. The two gar- roters in the case just mentioned were "Six-
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toed Pete" and a pal. After being robbed the victim gave the alarm and officers were soon in pursuit. The criminals were finally captured and brought back and lodged in the jail, which was a small, weak structure stand- ing on the present site of the court house Now the brother of one of the prisoners was a well-to-do saloon-keeper. Calling Slim Jim to him, he explained the predicament in which he was situated, and offered the negro a lib- eral reward if he would secure and deliver to the prisoners tools with which they could saw their way out. Slim Jim, with probably no knowledge of the seriousness of his crime, readily assented. "Jim," said the briber, as the young negro was leaving, "swear to me that you will never tell who hired you to do this."
"Yes, sah! Yo can 'pend 'pon me, sah." And away he went, his eyes growing big as he thought of the treasure that would soon be his.
He made his way down Main street to Dan Weston's blacksmith shop, which stood where now is Pauly's cigar store. Here he secured a file, a hammer and other tools that might aid in sawing iron, and soon had them in the cells of the two prisoners. That night Six-toed Pete and his partner cut out and got away. They were traced to Wallula and re- captured. Upon being locked up the sheriff took them aside and said, "Now, you fellows probably realize ye're in a pretty bad fix. Ef ye want to save yer necks ye'd better 'fess up who give ye them tools. An' ye might as well do it now as any time."
"Slim Jim," was the response that came with perhaps more alacrity than magnanimity.
That afternoon the sheriff appeared at the barber shop. "I'm lookin' fer a feller named Slim Jim."
"Dat's me," responded the negro promptly. "Well, I want ye to come along with me."
Jim, without any sign of surprise or hesi- tation, took his belt containing his pistol and "Arkansas toothpick" and handed it to the barber, saying as he did so, "Here, Dick, jes' keep these till I come back."
At the jail he was confronted with the charge of having aided in the escape of pris- oners. He promptly confessed, pleading for his excuse that lie "didn't know as it was so wrong."
"Well, I'll tell ye just one way to save yer neck," replied the sheriff. "Tell me who put ye up to this."
"I's swore I wouldn't." "That don't make no diff."
"When I promise a thing I ain't agoin' back on it. So you can shoot me or hang me or do anything else with me, but Slim Jim's agoin' to stick to his word."
It was evident to everyone that, negro as he was, his life wasn't worth much. But the way in which he carried himself throughout the whole matter had rather appealed to sonte of the citizens and so Ned James, agent for the express company, John Ryan and Ned Ryan interceded in his behalf and finally suc- ceeded in getting him freed.
"Well, we'll let you go this time." said the authorities, and Jim found himself once more free. If he had been wise he would have left immediately, but he stayed around town for a few days more.
The fourth night after his experience with the officers he was sitting with some compan- ions, listening to tales of adventure on sea and land. About eleven o'clock the proprie- tor of the shop went home. Before leaving he said, "Now, boys, if I were you I'd be in early to-night. Someway or another your
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stories have made me kind of nervous. You had better lock both front and back doors to-night."
"Ah, go on, you joker," was the laughing reply he heard as he stepped out into the darkness.
No one during the day time ever heard or saw a Vigilante. But at night it was different. Then they were everywhere.
"Halt!" said a gruff voice in the dark- ness. The barber stopped. A figure stepped up to him. He was clad in a large coat with an immense cape, which he held over his head and drawn so across his face as to allow noth- ing but his eyes to be seen. Peering closely into the face of his man he said. "We're not after you. Go on, and see to it you don't look back."
On one occasion a citizen was stopped six times thus, while walking from Fourth street up to First and around to Poplar.
Between one and two o'clock the next morning all was quiet in the rear of the barber shop. Fifteen or sixteen negroes were lying sleeping in a row on the floor. Disregarding their friend's advice, the rear door was left open.
Suddenly down Main street there stole twenty-five or thirty dark figures. Each was masked and each carried a rifle. They stopped in front of the barber shop. Half of them remained here while the rest went quietly around to the rear door. Silently they filed in through the open door. They took their places at the feet of the sleeping negroes, each Vigilante covering a sleeper with his gun. Presently all the sleepers were aroused from their slumber by a rude voice, "Whoever moves will have his head blown off!" Some of the negroes, beside themselves with terror, began to plead for mercy, but were summarily
silenced. "What's your name ?" said the man who stood over the first negro.
"Jones."
"We don't want you. What's your name?" to the next one.
"Bill Davis."
"We don't want you." And so on until they came to Jim.
"What's your name?"
"Slim Jim," was the quick response.
"We want you. Put on your boots."
Jim obeyed slowly and deliberately. Sud- denly he turned to his companions and ex- claimed, "Boys, these fellows mean to kill me. Stand by me." And with that he sprang upon the guard who stood over him and wrenched the gun from his hands. Suddenly he felt a deadening blow upon the left side of his head. He reeled and fell towards the right, when "thump," another blow from the butt of a musket knocked him back the other way. In- stantly a dozen hands had hold of him and he was dragged from the room.
The next morning when the proprietor of the shop returned to his place of business he came upon a strange scene. Huddled into a corner of the back room were fifteen or twenty negroes like a herd of sheep when chased by dogs.
"What's the matter ?"
No one answered. He looked about and saw blood upon the floor and upon the arch- way leading into the fore part of the shop.
"The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
Horses did neigh and dying men did groan,
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets,"
solemnly recited an old man who prided him- self upon a knowledge of Shakespeare.
"Come, you fellows. Where's Jim?" the barber asked.
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HISTORY OF WALLA WALLA COUNTY.
Without saying a word they took him out and led him just outside the village to an old tree which to-day stands near Singleton's pond, in the front yard of Mr. Mckenzie's place. There, swinging from a limb of that old tree, was all that was left of Jim.
One of the strangest cases laid at the door of the Vigilantes was that of Furth Patterson, one of the most noted and most remarkable characters of the early days.
To understand what happened to Patter- son, we must recall an incident which took place in Portland about the year 1863.
In. one of the principal saloons of the city there were standing before the bar a group of men. One was a young officer wearing the uniform of a Union soldier, whose shoulder straps signified that he was a captain in rank. His name was Staple. It appeared he had just received his commission and was celebrating the event with his friends.
There was in the company another man in whom we are interested. He was a model of physical beauty. Over six feet tall, full chested, broad shouldered, with a clear blue eye, and hair just turned gray, which he wore rather long, parted in the middle of the back and combed forward over the ears in the fashion then so popular. He was a southerner from top to toe and showed it in every move- ment, look and word. His name was Pat- terson.
"I drink to the success of the Union and the flag," suddenly cried Captain Staple. All raised their glasses to their lips except Pat- terson. As if in answer to the looks of inquiry of his companions, he exclaimed : "The Union and the flag be damned;" and he turned on his heel and walked up stairs.
"Bring him back and make him drink," cried the excited men. "It's not only an in-
sult to you personally, but to your uniform and your flag. Bring him back and make him drink."
Thus often a brave man is forced into the arms of death. In view of the situation and the remarks of his comrade, and considering that it was his maiden effort to keep unstained the colors he wore, the young captain felt that something must be done. He moved toward the stairs. From the landing above came a voice rich and deep, but with a ring in it that meant death: "I'll kill the first who mounts those stairs."
The young captain hesitated. His friends foolishly urged him on. With pistol in hand he ascended the stairs. One! Two! Three! A pistol shot rang out. The young man reeled, the blood spurting from a hole over, his heart. He was dead before he touched the floor.
Patterson was arrested, tried and acquit- ted. He made his way to Hot Springs, now known as Bingham Springs. Bingham Springs was then on the main stage line from The Dalles to Boise, and was a place of some im- portance, having a good sized hotel, bath house, etc.
Unfortunately for all concerned, it hap- pened that Patterson, whose reputation as a "bad man" was well established, and Pinkham, the sheriff of Boise, who was known as an overbearing bully, should meet at the springs. In politics they differed and had several dis- putes. One day Patterson was just emerging from a bath when, after two or three words from Pinkham, the latter slapped Patterson in the face.
"I'm all alone to-day without my gun," said Patterson. "One of these days I'll be fixed for you and we'll settle this matter."
"The sooner the better," said Pinkham.
It was some three or four days after this
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binations. Many were the deep-laid schemes. of both business and politics, which had their incubation on that corner.
Whole volumes of incidents, tragic. comic, thrilling, suggestive, might be gleaned from the old political history of this country.
Mention has already been made of the fact that in the early days Walla Walla was rife with the southern spirit of secession and rebel- lion. There were men, however, who had the courage and nerve to speak out in favor of the Union. Such a one was an old gambler and sport, known by the name of "Wabash," for lie was a Hoosier by birth.
One day he rigged up a flag in the follow- ing manner : To the barrel of his rifle he tied a piece of oilcloth, or rather hung it so that the barrel was covered and the oilcloth hung down on either side.
Holding the impromptu banner over his head, he walked boldly down Main street shouting at the top of his voice, "Hurrah for the flag and the Union!"
As he went along there appeared at doors and corners men, pistol in hand, to inquire into the presumptuous proceedings, but when they recognized the character of the man who carried the flag and recalled his reputation as a dead shot, and also when they saw the mur- derous nature of the flag-pole, they thought discretion the better part of valor and let the Union enthusiast alone. Yet old-timers say that scarcely another man had dared do the. same thing.
No one realized the lawlessness and spirit of rebellion against Uncle Sam's authority more than Edwin Eells, sometimes called "Gentle Eells." a son of Cushing Eells, who attempted to get the first census roll. Men played all manner of tricks upon him. It was
not enough to give him all sorts of ridiculous and sometimes vile pseudonyms, but they even went so far as to take his enrollment book and use it for a football, arranged buckets of water on the eaves of the porch so as to give him a free bath, etc. Fells never lost his temper. He always remonstrated in a gentle way until finally his patience won the day and he gained for himself the epithet "Gentle Eells."
We must not get the impression that Walla Walla in the 'sixties was composed en- tirely of toughs and gamblers. There were many men of sterling character, keen business sagacity ; men who made money, not at the gaming table, but by careful investments and skillful business management. We have al- ready spoken of Dr. D. S. Baker as promi- nent among these. He was a man of unique personal appearance, slender, wiry and stooped in frame, a face deeply furrowed by thought and care, a peculiar expression of his mouth in conversation, and an impressive deliberate- ness in his speech. With all his eccentricities he was a man of the highest integrity, the keenest intellect, and a genius in the world of financial affairs.
Many stories are told of the little railroad which he built and managed between W'alla Walla and Wallula. People have recalled many times over the little cigar-box cars, the dumpy engine, the wooden rails and the strap iron with its everlasting tendency to turn up at ends and threaten to wreck the train; the dog which some say was kept aboard to drive off the cows from the track. But the little railroad was a marvel in its own day and meant more to the Walla Walla valley than any one thing that has happened since that time.
Another character who could almost hold
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HISTORY OF WALLA WALLA COUNTY.
his own with anybody, both in worldly pos- sessions and eccentricities, was Joe Freeman, generally known as "Portuguese Joe," since he was supposed to have hailed from Portu- guese stock. In about 1872 he made his ap- pearance in Walla Walla with some sixty thousand dollars which he had got in the Oro Fino mines in Idaho. He was then a short, heavy-set man, of very dark complexion, black beard and hair just turning gray. He seemed to have been gifted with some powers of ex- pression and at times tried his hand at ora- tory. The most remarkable characteristic of his efforts in speech was a well-developed habit of circumlocution, coupled with the ner- vous impetuosity of his southern blood.
On one occasion he announced himself as a candidate for congressman, and gave notice of the fact that he would express his views on political matters on a certain afternoon on the corner of Third and Rose streets.
Quite a crowd assembled, and when Por- tuguese Joe mounted the bed of the wagon which was to serve as a rostrum, he was greeted with deafening applause.
Flattered and excited, he was soon sailing along on the tempestuous flood of his oratory, and making a genuine impression. But alas for the aspirant after political powers. There was a Cassius in the crowd, who had bribed the driver of the team which was hitched to Joe's grandstand. At a most interesting and exciting period in the orator's address, a sig- nal was given and the driver whipped up his horses, and the astonished audience was left standing watching the receding Demosthenes still spouting patriotism and madly gesticulat- ing until a corner hid him from view.
The story of Portuguese Joe reminds us of another joke with which he was connected,
and which involved two of Walla Walla's prominent lawyers.
Joe had lost fifteen hundred dollars at a game of faro. He brought suit against the proprietor of the gaming house, James Chaun- cey, alleging that he had been cheated. Allen and Crowley were employed by the defendant. It was an interesting trial and the court room was crowded. Allen was then a young law- yer and withal of a naturally gentle and inno- cent character. He was trying to show that if luck had gone the other way, Joe would have had no complaint to make as to the fair- ness of the game; in fact, that he was playing the baby act.
Mr. Allen had asked several questions which showed that he did not have an artistic conception of the fine points of the game, much to the amusement of the audience and to the consternation of his partner. Crowley. The climax was reached when Allen asked, "Didn't you hold good hands part of the time?" This was too much for Joe, who jumped from his seat and in great excitement began to draw diagrams on the floor and ex- plain that "hands" had nothing to do with it.
Finally Allen, whose face had assumed the hue of a poppy, was relieved and the audience was convulsed when Crowley dryly remarked, "John, you had better let me examine this witness."
Speaking of lawyers reminds us of one of the most interesting characters at the bar at that time,-Colonel Wyatt A. George. He was a southerner, with all that implies of grace, polish and gallantry. He was tall. slender, and erect even in his old age. He was always dressed in black and was never seen without his tall black silk hat. In this he always car-
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ried his papers and briefs, a thing which once saved his life.
In company with Mr. Ankeny, he was trav- eling on horseback, on his way toward Flor- ence. Suddenly the horse he was riding be- gan to buck and the colonel was thrown head- long down the side of a hill. lighting squarely upon his head. His hat was crushed down over his ears, but the pad of papers proved such a good cushion that he came out of his difficulty unscathed.
This recalls another incident when the colonel probably wished for his old friend and protector. It seems he liad become enamored of a woman whose husband was sick unto death. He had paid many visits to the place during the sick man's illness. One day the invalid asked his wife for a bottle full of hot water for his back. It was one of those old- time beer bottles, thick and solid as a brick. In the course of the evening in came the colo- nel. After chatting a little while very pleas- antly the sick man said : "Colonel, I wish you'd come close. I'm tired and can't talk loud. I want to whisper to you." The colonel, noth- ing loath, bent his head over the man and pre- pared to hear his parting words. The man affectionately put his arm around the colonel's neck, and having got a firm grip, reached for his bottle and before the astonished lawyer could break away he felt as though his head was a mass of shaking jelly. We must not treasure up this incident against the good colo- nel, for his intentions were really good. He afterward married the widow.
The colonel was an enthusiast at billiards. Indeed he had a very original way of spending his nights. He would begin to play at nine or ten o'clock, keep at it until three or four, then eat a meal such as would task the diges- tive powers of two ordinary men, and then
settle down in his chair for his night's rest. .At daybreak he would take a long walk into the country, and on his return be bright, wide awake and ready for business. He was by no means all eccentricities. He had a fine mind ; was possessed of real literary culture, being perfectly familiar with the works of the great masters and able to quote them by the hour, while as to his legal training and acumen, par- ticularly as to his knowledge of common law, he has never had a rival in this northwest country. For many years he was one of the well-known characters accompanying the court in its circuits. He was finally taken ill, and died in the Walla Walla hospital.
On one occasion he was riding in a stage coach. On the seat next to him sat a Cath- olic priest, and the two had gotten into a heated argument as to mortals' chances of en- tering Heaven. The colonel argued that many a man not known for his sanctity while on earth would stand a chance at the Pearly Gates.
"You will never see Heaven." responded the priest.
"I'll bet you fifty cents I will," promptly responded the colonel.
Let us hope that long ere this the priest has had to pay the bet.
Walla Walla has had her full share of floods and fires and other calamities. It is said by old-timers that formerly a larger por- tion of Mill creek flowed through the town than at present. The bed of the creek also was much nearer the bank than at present. In consequence of this it was much more lia- ble to disastrous overflow. . \ large stream flowed out at high water in nearly the pres- ent location of the flume on Alder street. The greatest flood in the history of the town was
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HISTORY OF WALLA WALLA COUNTY.
in November, 1861, immediately preceding the famous hard winter. That was a period of floods all'over the Columbia valley. At that time George E. Cole had a log building nearly in the present location of the Model bakery. The creek then flowed farther east, nearly in the present position of Leroux's blacksmith shop. When the immense volume of water poured out of the mountains it cut right through the bank, undermining Cole's building and discharging an enormous flood right down Main street, causing about as much damage as was possible, considering the little that there then was to damage. There have been frequent floods since, but the diversion of so large a portion of the water into the Yellow- hawk and Garrison creeks, together with the fact that Mill creek has cut its channel several feet deeper, has rendered its overflows less violent and destructive.
Walla Walla has had many fires also. Soon after the organization of the city there began to be efforts to form a fire company. The first fire company is said to have been the Washington, organized in 1863, Mr. Fred Stine being the leader in its formation. Their engine was an old "Hunneman tub." as it was called. The first fire worthy of mention was on the 4th of July. The celebration of the day was just fairly under way when Smith & Allen's store, nearly where the Salvation Army is now located, caught fire. There was great excitement, for the fire company had been disbanded before this and there was no organization whatever. However, a number of men, led by John Justice, rushed out the old Hunneman tub, got it into a stream of water which flowed near there, and succeeded in preventing any very disastrous spreading. The greatest fire in the history of Walla Walla was in March, 1887, when almost the entire
business portion of Walla Walla between Third and Fourth streets was destroyed. Since that time the fires, though numerous, have not been very extensive, those of the Stine House, the Hunt & Robert works, the States- man building, the Farmers' Alliance building, and the Elevator having been the worst. Al- though fires have been so numerous in Walla Walla, there have been only two cases of loss of life. One was in that of the Aurora Hotel, and the other in the Farmers' Alliance ware- house.
The greatest contrast between the Walla Walla of the past and that of the present is found in the condition of the yards and lawns. Aside from the verdure which fringed the creek and the various spring branches, the most of ancient Walla Walla was as bare and desolate as the Wallula of the present time. The streets, trodden by the feet of hundreds of Indian ponies and torn up by the rearing steeds of inebriated cow-boys, contributed clouds of dust to every passing breeze, and a universal grayish brown wrapped all objects, animate and inanimate. No fragrant locust trees or blushing roses or nodding snowballs or fresh, green grass relieved the dismal mo- notony of dust. Yet the wild rose bushes bloomed along the banks of the rivulets which then as now gladdened the waste, and the cot- tonwoods which skirted the creek shed their sweet perfume upon the zephyrs of May the same as now. It was plain even then that Walla Walla had the making of a beautiful place. A person of imagination could look forward to the stately trees and verdant lawns which now make Walla Walla the pleasantest home city of the Inland Empire. One could then anticipate the yards full of tulips and lilaes, roses and chrysanthemums, and the yard
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