From the SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER STAFF

Nearly 150 years after he was hanged for murder, Leschi -- the legendary Nisqually Indian chief who lends his name to a Seattle neighborhood and park, schools and other Northwest institutions -- will get another day in court.

At least symbolically.

A panel, headed by state Supreme Court Chief Justice Gerry Alexander, will preside over a special "Historical Court of Inquiry and Justice" in Tacoma next month to consider if Leschi was wrongfully convicted for Washington's first capital murder case on record. Leschi was executed in 1858 for killing a militia soldier. From the beginning, the case against Leschi raised doubts.

Next month's hearing is set for Dec. 10 at the Washington State History Museum.

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Leschi wasn't a murderer, tribe says
Nisquallys working to 'set the record straight' on chief's conviction in soldier's death

By LEWIS KAMB
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

His name remains intricately entwined in Northwest culture: a cherished namesake to schools, a Seattle neighborhood and waterfront park, even a planned Army training center soon to rise on land where his people once thrived.

But under the letter of law in Washington, he is branded a murderer.

Leschi, anointed war chief of the Nisqually and champion of his people, swung from the gallows in a prairie near Steilacoom nearly 150 years ago. His conviction and death sentence for the killing of a militia soldier culminated with the first recorded case of capital punishment in Washington's history.

So how does the name of a convicted murderer -- a man whose death sentence was upheld by the territory's highest court -- remain so celebrated?

Quite simply, said renowned Indian historian Cecelia Svinth Carpenter, because Chief Leschi was innocent.

"There was dissent about his execution even when it happened," said Carpenter, a Nisqually tribal elder and noted author. "It's time to finally set the record straight."

Now, almost a century and a half since his controversial conviction, a group of Nisqually tribe members and their allies are seeking to do just that.

Spearheaded largely by three women -- a Leschi family descendant, a state historian and the 79-year-old Carpenter -- an effort to clear the chief's name has quietly matured over the past year into a cause celebre, garnering support from historians, elected officials and attorneys.

Members of the voluntary "Committee to Exonerate Chief Leschi" say they're ready to make their case. Armed with information gleaned from trial transcripts, history books and case law, they plan to address the Legislature and may seek a special trial to hear their arguments.

The committee also has enlisted help from a seemingly unlikely ally -- a longtime prosecutor known for his staunch support of the death penalty.

"I believe in capital punishment, but you can't be careless with it," said John Ladenburg, former Pierce County prosecutor turned county executive. "And in this case, it was dead wrong."

In the end, committee members hope for a statement exonerating Leschi and that the state's historical record be corrected to reflect his innocence. And, they want Washington state to officially apologize, once and for all, to the Nisqually -- a people who say they've carried the weight of their chief's injustice for decades.

"It's been a huge emotional burden," says Cynthia Iyall, a committee organizer and Nisqually tribe member who traces her roots to the family of Leschi's sister.

(Note: Iyall's lineage was misstated when this article was originally published.)

"Here you are, a member of a tribe whose greatest leader is considered a murderer -- and that's not the case. We just want what's right."

And what's right, the committee contends, can be found in the annals of Washington history, and in circumstances that brought a heavy-shouldered man with piercing brown eyes to a scaffold on a winter's day in 1858.

When the federal government officially established the Washington Territory, carving it from the old Oregon Territory in 1853, the push to settle the land for Americans ignited.

President Franklin Pierce appointed Isaac Stevens, an ambitious Mexican War veteran, the territory's first governor. He was charged with one mission above all: Make treaties with local Indians to make way for American settlers.

"There was no more debate over what to do with the Indians," said Melissa Parr, a curator for the Washington State Historical Society. "It had been determined: Put them on reservations."

Stevens brought his first treaty to a gathering of Nisqually, Puyallup and Squaxin tribes at Medicine Creek in 1854, but met resistance from a 46-year-old Indian appointed to represent the tribes. Born the son of a Nisqually father and Klickitat mother, Leschi, a tall, square-jawed farmer, was recognized for his intelligence and speaking skills.

For his tribe -- fishermen and farmers settled along the Nisqually River -- Leschi argued the right to continue living on traditional lands. But Stevens' treaty proposed moving the Nisqually to a small, rocky bluff on Puget Sound.

According to several historical accounts, Leschi refused to sign the treaty. He tore up his appointment papers and left the meeting in a rage.

And soon, tensions between Indians and the new government would lead to bloodshed.

In the fall of 1855, with the Indian wars under way, the territory's acting governor formed a militia and ordered a detachment to arrest Leschi and his brother, Quiemuth.

The brothers caught wind of the order and hastily fled their farms. Leschi's plan, according to some historical accounts, was to seek refuge with relatives east of the Cascades.

But chiefs of other tribes dissatisfied with Stevens' treaties persuaded him to stay and fight -- and Leschi soon was anointed war chief.

For more than a year, isolated skirmishes and more organized battles broke out between Indian warriors and volunteer militias bolstered by U.S. Army troops.

All the while, Stevens pledged to wage war "until the last hostile Indian is exterminated," a newspaper account reported.

As the war began to subside in 1856, Leschi agreed to lay down his arms, assured by an Army colonel that he would not be held accountable for acts of war, records say.

By then, Stevens faced criticism from the federal government for the way he was handling the war. He had amended the Medicine Creek Treaty, allowing the Nisqually to live on their traditional lands.

Still, Leschi remained in hiding, warned by an Army official that "prejudice ran high against him," according to a pioneer's account. A nephew of Leschi betrayed him, however, delivering the chief to Stevens in exchange for 50 blankets.

Leschi was charged with the murder of A. Benton Moses, a militia soldier ambushed in a Pierce County prairie shortly after Leschi had fled his home.

At trial, the chief denied being at the prairie when the ambush occurred. But A.B. Rabbeson, the government's only witness, testified he saw Leschi shoot Moses.


Meeker Rabbeson "had not been on the witness stand five minutes until the guilt of perjury showed so plainly reflected in his eyes that no one really believed he was telling the truth," pioneer Ezra Meeker, who sat on the jury, later wrote.

Meeker and another juror held out with "not guilty" votes, forcing a hung jury.

A retrial convened -- this time, in Thurston County, where Stevens had strong support. But unlike the first trial, a judge did not instruct the jury to consider whether Moses' killing was an act of war immune to prosecution. The jury of 12 white men convicted Leschi and condemned him to hang.

The territory's Supreme Court later upheld Leschi's conviction. And an Army colonel's map of the ambush site -- a survey never presented at trial that disputed Rabbeson's account of the ambush -- failed to win Leschi a pardon.

Though the Pierce County sheriff and U.S. Army officers refused to carry out Leschi's execution, a Thurston County posse did -- hanging him Feb. 19, 1858.

Decades later, Leschi's story would spark anger in a little girl, and a promise to a dying man that the great chief's name would one day be cleared.

"When I was a child, I heard the adults always talking about Leschi, and I always felt my mother's anger," Carpenter, the Nisqually elder, said. "I guess I got angry, too."

Carpenter later channeled that anger into her tribe's history. She taught school and wrote seven books, including "Leschi, Last Chief of the Nisquallies."

"I just wanted to tell the true stories of our people," she said.

Likewise, Iyall, a former Nisqually tribal councilwoman, recalled hearing Leschi's story while growing up.

"My grandfather told all of us kids that story so many times, I just felt this huge responsibility," she said.

Then, shortly before he died two years ago, Sherman Leschi -- one of the chief's last descendants -- asked Iyall to make him a promise.

"He was a man of very few words," Iyall said, "and one of his last few words to me were, 'This story needs to be corrected.' "

About a year ago, Iyall took that promise to Carpenter and Parr, a state historian, and the effort to exonerate Chief Leschi was born.

Together, with the help of tribe members and others, the women have formed a committee and garnered more than 700 signatures to support their cause. And they've created a presentation that includes evidence omitted from Leschi's trial.

They've also enlisted help from lawyers, such as Ladenburg, who believes the strongest legal argument for Leschi centers on the government's refusal to grant clemency under the "act of war" clause.

"You can't execute people for actions occurring during an act of war, unless it's a war crime," he said. "This was not a war crime."

While committee members plan to take their case to state lawmakers, they likely won't be able to clear Leschi's conviction from state law books.

"Under separation of powers, the legislative branch cannot reverse or vacate a court's decision," Washington Supreme Court Chief Justice Gerry Alexander said.

But Alexander noted that the governor holds "powers to pardon." And other acts, such as resolutions from the Legislature, can provide at least some "symbolic" remedies, he said.

For the time being, committee members say, the true words of history can be found etched on a modest headstone near Tacoma, marking the grave of the Nisquallys' greatest leader:

"Judicially murdered ... serving his people by his death," it reads. "A martyr of liberty, honor and the rights of his native land."