The Pig That Almost Started a War: Truth Really Is Stranger Than Fiction

You couldn't sell this story to a publisher. In the summer of 1859, the United States and Great Britain came within a hair's breadth of going to war with each other — and the only casualty when it was all over was a pig.

Here's how it happened.

Back in 1846, the two countries signed the Treaty of Oregon, drawing the border between their Pacific Northwest territories along the 49th parallel. The problem: the treaty said the line would continue "through the middle of the channel which separates the continent from Vancouver Island" — and nobody could agree which channel that meant. The Americans said the Haro Strait. The British said the Rosario Strait. Sitting in between: the San Juan Islands, claimed by both sides.

For thirteen years it was a quiet disagreement. Then came June 15, 1859.

Lyman Cutlar, a farmer from Kentucky, had staked a claim on San Juan Island — right in the middle of a Hudson's Bay Company sheep run. He built a cabin, planted a potato patch, and told himself the island was American soil.

Charles Griffin, an Irishman running the company's Belle Vue Sheep Farm, let his pigs roam free. And one morning Cutlar woke up to find one of Griffin's boars rooting through his potato patch. Again.

So Cutlar grabbed his rifle and shot the pig dead.

He went to Griffin and offered $10 to settle it. Griffin — who said the boar was a valuable breeding animal — demanded $100. Cutlar told him he'd sooner see lightning strike. (Legend has it Cutlar said, "It was eating my potatoes," and Griffin replied, "It's up to you to keep your potatoes out of my pig." Probably never happened, but it fits too well to leave out.)

When British authorities threatened to arrest Cutlar, the American settlers cried for help. Enter Brigadier General William Harney, a man not known for his fondness toward the British. He sent Captain George Pickett — yes, that Pickett, of later Gettysburg fame — with 66 soldiers to occupy the island.

Britain answered with three warships under Captain Hornby. By August, the scoreboard read:

🇺🇸 461 American soldiers, 14 cannons 🇬🇧 5 British warships, 167 guns, 2,140 men

One pig. That's what this was over.

Governor James Douglas of British Columbia ordered the Royal Navy's Rear Admiral Baynes to land his marines and engage the Americans. Baynes took one look at the situation and refused, telling Douglas he would not "involve two great nations in a war over a squabble about a pig."

Good call, Admiral.

Word finally reached Washington, and President Buchanan sent Lieutenant General Winfield Scott — 73 years old, nicknamed "Old Fuss and Feathers" — to sort it out. Scott negotiated a joint occupation: about 100 men apiece, the British camp on one end of the island, the Americans on the other. They stayed there, more or less friendly, for the next twelve years — celebrating each other's holidays and sharing whisky.

In 1872, the two nations let Germany's Kaiser Wilhelm I arbitrate the boundary. He awarded the San Juan Islands to the United States.

Today, San Juan Island National Historical Park preserves both camps. And at English Camp, the Union Jack still flies — raised and lowered every single day by American park rangers. It's one of the only places on earth where US government employees hoist another country's flag.

They say truth is stranger than fiction. I don't know a novelist alive who could sell this one: two empires, thousands of troops, fourteen cannons and a hundred sixty-seven guns — all because a farmer shot a pig out of his potatoes.

And the only casualty of the whole affair? The pig.