Page 67 - Family History

Family Stories

We could dimly see in the darkness forms of persons, all going in the same

direction, not in agitation or alarm but with calm deliberation and apparently
grim determination. The situation was obvious. Our plans and movements had
become known. The Port Crescent contingent was organizing the town for
resistance and every available man was being enlisted for battle. All these people
were now going to some rendezvous to arm and prepare for our reception. There
would be fight to the finish. The morrow’s sun might rise upon a scene littered

with dead bodies. Whose?

We were upon the point of returning to the main body to give the alarm when we
began to hear a rhythmic humming from the point where all of these people were

assembling; a strangely ominous, menacing sound, now rising into a banshee
wail then subsiding into a dull, sullen roar. Our hair began to raise. We could
hardly imagine the opposition indulging in a preliminary war dance, but this
was strongly suggestive of even that.

As we crouched there in the darkness, our nerves tingled at the swift approach of
the conflict and the terrifying mystery of that sound. Presently, however, we

collected ourselves and continued our investigation. We cautiously approached
the source of the mysterious sound and arrived in the vicinity of the church
when the stark reality burst upon us. This was Sunday. The persons thought to
be assembling at a rendezvous were really going peacefully to evening services

and the strange sound was the church organ. The nervous tension sagged back
several notches.

Considerably non-plused at the situation we determined to interview Mr. Smith
Troy, then County Auditor, who was favorable to Port Angeles. Mr. Troy viewed
our persons and accoutrements with considerable astonishment and heard our
tales of adventure with much amusement. He finally convinced us that there

was no thought of opposition to the removal of the county seat, no Port Crescent
were there and that all of the direful tales of possible bloodshed were but the
products of overworked imaginations.

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