Where was Bret's Harte?

A local legend re-examined

It may have been in self-defense. Who really knows why people do awful things? Still, few would argue that what the people of Humboldt County did on Feb. 26, 1860 was right, or even justifiable.

But the facts remain. On that cold winter morning, a group of men from Eureka and the surrounding area, led by a man named Captain Wright, went out to Indian Island and recklessly destroyed some 60 human lives and possibly an entire culture.

"They took away our culture by killing our families -- our elders, who pass on those traditions; our children, who learn those traditions," says Cheryl Seidner. She is the great-great-granddaughter of a baby found on the island after the massacre. She says she learned of the massacre from oral tradition when she was very young, but her elders taught her not to dwell on it. Though at some point in time she asked, "Who's 'civilized?'"

Armed with hatchets and clubs and other implements of destruction, the "civilized" men did the only thing they felt they could to stop the native people of Humboldt County from harming their civilization. Oxen and other livestock turned up missing. Even some white men turned up dead as few as two weeks before the massacre.

Though none of the county citizens thought the Wiyot stole the livestock or killed any men, some mistakenly came to the conclusion Wiyot helped the tribes from the mountains. Those tribes, people thought, committed the crimes. People assumed they traded things like ammunition and weaponry, along with information, for the meat the mountain tribes acquired.

Local newspapers reported after the massacre, those investigating the scene found as much as 100 pounds of jerked beef on the island. But that too was a mistake. The jerked meat turned out to be seal -- the Wiyot were not really beef eaters.

Also, the citizens of Humboldt County, according to some written accounts, interpreted some events the night before as a sign that a war with the Indians, including the Wiyot, was inevitable. The people knew very little about native culture, and did little to understand or accept it. To them and Indian was and Indian.

"You can't trust an injun," said noted pioneer and hunter Seth Kinman. "I know 'em. If they get the upper hand on you, they will cinch you sure. The only way to get along with them is make them afeard of you." And so went the prevailing thought of Humboldt County at the time. Newspapers actually suggested a solution a little more harsh than making "them afeard."

The natives merely celebrated that week. Some things are lost, says Seidner. Among those things were the name of the island and what the celebration was for. The Wiyot have never celebrated that week since. But they did celebrate for a week before the massacre. The celebration culminated on Saturday night with a great dance. And according to historian Lewellyn Loud, winds from the north kept the inhabitants of the North Bay from going home that night. But those who lived south of the island were able to get back to the mainland. Loud also claimed that spies from the mainland, who went to investigate the dance, also eventually traveled back to Eureka.

D.R. Leeper, who claimed to be with the group of whites that slaughtered the natives on the island, wrote that the whole town was expecting war. He said there were plans to put a stockade in the plaza. They saw people from the island leaving in boats. Whether it was boats of those from the Eel River going home, the spies headed back to Eureka, or some men leaving the island earlier in the day is irrelevant. They took it as a sign the natives were on the move. But his account is all together less than accurate. He went on to claim the militia was "armed to the teeth" with guns. He said there were 12 of them, led by Captain 'Smith,' and they shot everything in sight. But most reports have it as being a group of six men who used very little in the way of bullets.

Assuming the responsible parties were right all along about the Wiyot, the attack would have done little good. Few men were on the island, and even fewer were of prime age. And surely no one thought it was the women and children who were guilty of any crimes, if only because of the latent sexism that prevailed during the 19th century.

Bret Harte Clipping courtesy of "The Writings of Bret Harte: Vol. 1." Supporting photographs taken at Indian Island on Humboldt Bay in Eureka. Illustration by Kevin Bell

First, it was no isolated incident. Nor was it a "spur-of-the-moment" reaction to some supposed war with "injuns." There were many groups of natives attacked in a very similar way -- early that morn, and for the next three years in both Mendocino and Humboldt counties. On that morning, natives suffered attacks at three separate locations. The attack at Indian Island was simply the best known and publicized. Publicity was in part due to a young typesetter and reporter working for the Union or Uniontown (but now known as Arcata) newspaper, The Northern Californian, named Francis Brett Harte. Harte would eventually change his name as well -- dropping the Francis and the second 't' in 'Brett.'

Harte had only been writing for three or four years. He ended up in Humboldt County after coming to California from New York with his mom as a child. She remarried after Harte's father had died. When Harte grew to adulthood, he moved in with a sister who had married and moved to the north coast of California. He found work with the paper when it first started, and as a result, had considerable clout. Though officially only a typesetter, he was working as the Uniontown reporter and editor in late February and early March 1860.

That Sunday morning Harte and Eureka senior agent J.H. Davis were hard at work. Harte was in Uniontown where he witnessed survivors bring four canoes loaded with bodies in en route to the Mad River, where some of the natives on the island that night lived. Davis made his way out to the island, where he witnessed the bulk of the tragedy. Both men reported the same thing: dead people, mostly women and children, with their heads split open from ax blades and blunt objects, supplemented by multiple stab wounds. Very few injuries were from bullets, and the residents of Eureka claimed they only heard a few shots during the long night.

In the next issue of The Northern Californian, which came out that Wednesday, the shocking details of the crime were conveyed. With the details was the story of a man named "Bill," who was friendly with many of the citizens, and how he had lost his wife, mother, sister, two brothers, and two children in the massacre. Harte worked aggressively to send the message that the attack was wrong home to the readers. But Harte also wrote an editorial claiming though the massacre was deplorable, the blame should be placed squarely on the shoulders of the U.S. government.

But clearly Harte was no angel himself. His newspaper and others from Humboldt County helped to provide fertile intellectual soil in which the hate and ignorance could grow. The Northern Californian published editorials in the month leading to the massacre that helped to create a war-ready attitude. Even less than two weeks before the massacre, a news item claiming natives killed an ox belonging to Mr. Titlow appeared in the paper. It claimed a militia, led by Captain Wright, organized without permission of the governor and that was merely a sign immediate action was a "necessity."

It's possible that Bret Harte felt guilty, because in the following issue of The Northern Californian he would appear to atone. Showing some sympathy, Harte tried to convince the people of Humboldt County that it would be wise to employ the natives who had survived the attack. He claimed they were weak and incited only pity and therefore would not pose the same threat as an able bodied native. Harte rationalized it by noting that in cases where natives had been willing to part with their offspring, the offspring often turned out to be good servants.

Harte left town fewer than two weeks after that editorial had been published. Legend has it that the people of Humboldt -- presumably the powerful ones who not only owned the livestock in question but were also influential in putting together the militia for the massacre -- drove Harte from the town for writing the two aforementioned editorials. Though the tone of the second seems more sympathetic, it's hard to imagine much of an uproar stirring from such minor disapproval.
But the news had traveled far. The Northern Californian regularly made it down to Sacramento, a major stop on the Pony Express and the gate to the East. There the Sacramento Bee published articles questioning the actions of the Humboldt citizens.

"Why not send troops after the lions as well as the Indians, when both are guilty of the same offense in the same degree," it asked. "The fact is that these Mendocino and Humboldt people make a terrible ado about nothing -- appear to be afraid of Indian's shadow -- and would have the state inaugurate and carry on a war of Indian extermination, because Mr. Titlow lost an ox!"

Also, much had been written in San Francisco, which was well on its way to becoming the world city that it is today. And a lot of the material published in San Francisco came from letters sent from Humboldt County. There were letters from the sheriff and upstanding citizens who opposed the barbarism. Letters from Maj. G. J. Rains, the commander of Fort Humboldt, exonerated the Wiyot from any of the acts they were accused of. These were all accompanied by a host of anonymous letters written by someone calling themselves "Eye-Witness," "Anti-Thug," "Citizen," and "Exodus."

Those anonymous letters are of some special notice. Bret Harte was well known for writing anonymously. He would often sign his work simply "B" or "Bret." Other times he would sign "Bohemian." Though it's some leap to go from "Bohemian" to "Anti-Thug," Harte was an eyewitness to the atrocities he saw that Sunday morning. He was also well connected to San Francisco and its media. He wrote for the Golden Era magazine while living in Union. And it's much easier to accept that he was run out of town for writing harsh, pro-native prose then for writing mild editorials echoing the general mentality of the public.

Seidner remembers being told that Harte was run out of town not for what was published in Union, but for what was published in San Francisco. She also remembers hearing that things were passed on to the East and to New York. But the news could have easily gotten to New York from Sacramento. Either way, Harte's legacy in Humboldt County will be that of a young journalist who tried to say what was right and was run off for it.

History was not so kind to the Wiyot. So much of their culture and identity were destroyed. They were held in at Fort Humboldt for their safety, presumably both from the winter and from those who might try to finish what they started. Eventually, the survivors were moved to reservations. Some people repeatedly came back to Humboldt Bay, while others tried to assimilate with other tribes. But they have managed to survive, in some capacity, for the 140 years since. Survivors have seen both blessings and troubles, but they now have a reservation specifically for Wiyot. And in March of 2000 they purchased 1.5 acres of the 275-acre island that used to be a mere part of home.