“PACIFIC’S PIONEERS.“A greeting to Pacific’s Pioneers,Whose peaceful lives are drawing to a close,Whose patient toil, for lo these many years,Has made the forest blossom as the rose.“And bright-browed women, bonny, brave and true,And laughing lasses, sound of heart and head,Who home and kindred bade a last adieuTo follow love where fortune led.“I do not dedicate these lines aloneTo men who live to bless the world today,But I include the nameless and unknownThe pioneers who perished by the way.“Not for the recreant do my numbers ring,The men who spent their lives in sport and spree,Nor for the barnacles that always clingTo every craft that cruises Freedom’s sea.“But nearly all were noble, brave and kind,And little cared for fame or fashion’s gyves;And though they left their Sunday suits behindThey practiced pure religion all their lives.“Their love of peace no people could excel,Their dash in war the poet’s pen awaits;Their sterling loyalty made possiblePacific’s golden galaxy of states.“They had no time to bother much aboutContending creeds that vex the nation’s Hub,But then they left their leather latches outTo every wandering Arab short of grub.“Cut off from all courts, man’s earthly shield from harm,They looked for help to Him whose court’s above,And learned to lean on labor’s honest arm,And live the higher law, the law of love.“Not one but ought to wear a crown of gold,If crowns were made for men who do their bestAmid privations cast and manifoldThat unborn generations may be blest.“Among these rugged pioneers the ruleWas equal rights, and all took special prideIn ’tending Mother Nature’s matchless school,And on her lessons lovingly relied.“And this is doubtless why they are in touchWith Nature’s noblemen neath other skies;And though of books they may not know as muchTheir wisdom lasts, as Nature never lies.“And trusting God and His unerring planAs only altruistic natures couldTheir faith extended to their fellow man,The image of the Author of all good.“Since Nature here has done her best to pleaseBy making everything in beauty’s mold,Loads down with balm of flowers every breeze,And runs her rivers over reefs of gold,“It seems but natural that men who yearnFor native skies, and visit scenes of yore,Are seldom satisfied till they returnTo roam the Gardens of the Gods once more!“And since they fell in love with nature hereHow fitting they should wish to fall asleepWhere sparkling mountain spires soar and spearThe stainless azure of the upper deep.“And yet we’re saddened when the papers sayAnother pioneer has passed away!And memory recalls when first, forsooth,We saw him in the glorious flush of youth.“How plain the simple truth when seen appears,No wonder that faded leaves we fall!This is the winter of the pioneersThat blows a wreath of wrinkles to us all!“A few more mounds for faltering feet to seek,When, somewhere in this lovely sunset-landLike some weird, wintry, weather-beaten peakSome rare old Roman all alone will stand.“But not for long, for ere the rosy dawnOf many golden days has come and gone,Our pine-embowered bells will shout to every shore"Pacific’s Pioneers are now no more!"“But lovely still the glorious stars will glowAnd glitter in God’s upper deep like pearlsAnd mountains too will wear their robes of snowJust as they did when we were boys and girls.“Ah well, it may be best, and is, no doubt,As death is quite as natural as birthAnd since no storms can blow the sweet stars out,Why should one wish to always stay on earth?“Especially as God can never change,And man’s the object of His constant careAnd though beyond the Pleiades we rangeHis boundless love and mercy must be there.”
“A greeting to Pacific’s Pioneers,Whose peaceful lives are drawing to a close,Whose patient toil, for lo these many years,Has made the forest blossom as the rose.
“And bright-browed women, bonny, brave and true,And laughing lasses, sound of heart and head,Who home and kindred bade a last adieuTo follow love where fortune led.
“I do not dedicate these lines aloneTo men who live to bless the world today,But I include the nameless and unknownThe pioneers who perished by the way.
“Not for the recreant do my numbers ring,The men who spent their lives in sport and spree,Nor for the barnacles that always clingTo every craft that cruises Freedom’s sea.
“But nearly all were noble, brave and kind,And little cared for fame or fashion’s gyves;And though they left their Sunday suits behindThey practiced pure religion all their lives.
“Their love of peace no people could excel,Their dash in war the poet’s pen awaits;Their sterling loyalty made possiblePacific’s golden galaxy of states.
“They had no time to bother much aboutContending creeds that vex the nation’s Hub,But then they left their leather latches outTo every wandering Arab short of grub.
“Cut off from all courts, man’s earthly shield from harm,They looked for help to Him whose court’s above,And learned to lean on labor’s honest arm,And live the higher law, the law of love.
“Not one but ought to wear a crown of gold,If crowns were made for men who do their bestAmid privations cast and manifoldThat unborn generations may be blest.
“Among these rugged pioneers the ruleWas equal rights, and all took special prideIn ’tending Mother Nature’s matchless school,And on her lessons lovingly relied.
“And this is doubtless why they are in touchWith Nature’s noblemen neath other skies;And though of books they may not know as muchTheir wisdom lasts, as Nature never lies.
“And trusting God and His unerring planAs only altruistic natures couldTheir faith extended to their fellow man,The image of the Author of all good.
“Since Nature here has done her best to pleaseBy making everything in beauty’s mold,Loads down with balm of flowers every breeze,And runs her rivers over reefs of gold,
“It seems but natural that men who yearnFor native skies, and visit scenes of yore,Are seldom satisfied till they returnTo roam the Gardens of the Gods once more!
“And since they fell in love with nature hereHow fitting they should wish to fall asleepWhere sparkling mountain spires soar and spearThe stainless azure of the upper deep.
“And yet we’re saddened when the papers sayAnother pioneer has passed away!And memory recalls when first, forsooth,We saw him in the glorious flush of youth.
“How plain the simple truth when seen appears,No wonder that faded leaves we fall!This is the winter of the pioneersThat blows a wreath of wrinkles to us all!
“A few more mounds for faltering feet to seek,When, somewhere in this lovely sunset-landLike some weird, wintry, weather-beaten peakSome rare old Roman all alone will stand.
“But not for long, for ere the rosy dawnOf many golden days has come and gone,Our pine-embowered bells will shout to every shore"Pacific’s Pioneers are now no more!"
“But lovely still the glorious stars will glowAnd glitter in God’s upper deep like pearlsAnd mountains too will wear their robes of snowJust as they did when we were boys and girls.
“Ah well, it may be best, and is, no doubt,As death is quite as natural as birthAnd since no storms can blow the sweet stars out,Why should one wish to always stay on earth?
“Especially as God can never change,And man’s the object of His constant careAnd though beyond the Pleiades we rangeHis boundless love and mercy must be there.”
Sealth or “Old Seattle,” a peaceable son of the forest, was of a line of chieftains, his father, Schweabe, or Schweahub, a chief before him of the Suquampsh tribe inhabiting a portion of the west shore of Puget Sound, his mother, a Duwampsh of Elliott Bay, whose name was Wood-sho-lit-sa.
Sealth’s birthplace was the famous Oleman House, near the site of which he is now buried. Oleman House was an immense timber structure, long ago inhabited by many Indians; scarcely a vestige of it now remains. It was built by Sealth’s father. Chief Sealth was twice married and had three sons and five daughters, the last of whom, Angeline, or Ka-ki-is-il-ma, passed away on May 31, 1896. In an interview she informed me that her grandfather, Schweabe, was a tall, slim man, while Sealth was rather heavy as well as tall. Sealth was a hunter, she said, but not a great warrior. In the time of her youth there were herds of elk near Oleman House which Sealth hunted with the bow or gun.
The elk, now limited to the fastnesses of the Olympic Mountains, were also hunted in the cove south of West Seattle, by Englishmen, Sealth’scousin, Tsetseguis, helping, with other Indians, to carry out the game.
Angeline further said that her father, “Old Seattle,” as the white people called him, inherited the chiefship when a little boy. As he grew up he became more important, married, obtained slaves, of whom he had eight when the Dennys came, and acquired wealth. Of his slaves, Yutestid is living (1899) and when reminded of him she laughed and repeated his name several times, saying, “Yutestid! Yutestid! How was it possible for me to forget him? Why, we grew up together!” Yutestid was a slave by descent, as also were five others; the remaining two he had purchased. It is said that he bought them out of pity from another who treated them cruelly.
Sealth, Keokuk, William and others, with quite a band of Duwampsh and Suquampsh Indians, once attacked the Chimacums, surrounded their large house or rancheree at night; at some distance away they joined hands forming a circle and gradually crept up along the ground until quite near, when they sprang up and fired upon them; the terrified occupants ran out and were killed by their enemies. On entering they found one of the wounded crawling around crying “Ah! A-ah!” whom they quickly dispatched with an ax.
A band of Indians visited Alki in 1851, who told the story to the white settlers, imitating theirmovements as the attacking party and evidently much enjoying the performance.
About the year 1841, Sealth set himself to avenge the death of his nephew, Almos, who was killed by Owhi. With five canoe loads of his warriors, among whom was Curley, he ascended White River and attacked a large camp, killed more than ten men and carried the women and children away into captivity.
At one time in Olympia some renegades who had planned to assassinate him, fired a shot through his tent but he escaped unhurt. Dr. Maynard, who visited him shortly after, saw that while he talked as coolly as if nothing unusual had occurred, he toyed with his bow and arrow as if he felt his power to deal death to the plotters, but nothing was ever known of their punishment.
Sealth was of a type of Puget Sound Indian whose physique was not by any means contemptible. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, even brawny, straight and strong, they made formidable enemies, and on the warpath were sufficiently alarming to satisfy the most exacting tenderfoot whose contempt for the “bowlegged siwash” is by no means concealed. Many of the old grizzly-haired Indians were of large frame and would, if living, have made a towering contrast to their little “runts” of critics.
Neither were their minds dwarfed, for evidently not narrowed by running in the groovesof other men’s thoughts, they were free to nourish themselves upon nature and from their magnificent environment they drew many striking comparisons.
Not versed in the set phrases of speech, time-worn and hackneyed, their thoughts were naive, fresh, crude and angular as the frost-rended rocks on the mountain side. A number of these Indians were naturally gifted as orators; with great, mellow voices, expressive gestures, flaming earnestness, piteous pathos and scorching sarcasm, they told their wrongs, commemorated their dead and declared their friendship or hatred in a voluminous, polysyllabic language no more like Chinook than American is like pigeon English.
The following is a fragment valuable for the intimation it gives of their power as orators, as well as a true description of the appearance of Sealth, written by Dr. H. A. Smith, a well known pioneer, and published in the Seattle Sunday Star of October 29, 1877:
“Old Chief Seattle was the largest Indian I ever saw, and by far the noblest looking. He stood nearly six feet in his moccasins, was broad-shouldered, deep-chested and finely proportioned. His eyes were large, intelligent, expressive and friendly when in repose, and faithfully mirrored the varying moods of the great soul that looked through them. He was usually solemn, silent and dignified, but on great occasions movedamong assembled multitudes like a Titan among Lilliputians, and his lightest word was law.“When rising to speak in council or to tender advice, all eyes were turned upon him, and deep-toned, sonorous and eloquent sentences rolled from his lips like the ceaseless thunders of cataracts flowing from exhaustless fountains, and his magnificent bearing was as noble as that of the most civilized military chieftain in command of the force of a continent. Neither his eloquence, his dignity nor his grace was acquired. They were as native to his manhood as leaves and blossoms are to a flowering almond.“His influence was marvelous. He might have been an emperor but all his instincts were democratic, and he ruled his subjects with kindness and paternal benignity.“He was always flattered by marked attentions from white men, and never so much as when seated at their tables, and on such occasions he manifested more than anywhere else his genuine instincts of a gentleman.“When Governor Stevens first arrived in Seattle and told the natives that he had been appointed commissioner of Indian affairs for Washington Territory, they gave him a demonstrative reception in front of Dr. Maynard’s office near the water front on Main Street. The bay swarmed with canoes and the shore was lined with a living mass of swaying, writhing, dusky humanity, until Old Chief Seattle’s trumpet-toned voice rolled over the immense multitude like the reveille of a bass drum, when silence became as instantaneous and perfect as that which follows a clap of thunder from a clear sky.“The governor was then introduced to the native multitude by Dr. Maynard, and at once commenced in a conversational, plain and straightforward style, an explanation of his mission among them, which is too well understood to require recapitulation.“When he sat down, Chief Seattle arose, with all the dignity of a senator who carries the responsibilities of a great nation on his shoulders. Placing one hand on the governor’s head, and slowly pointing heavenward with the index finger of the other, he commenced his memorable address in solemn and impressive tones:“‘Yonder sky has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the clouds that never set. What Seattle says the chief Washington can rely upon, with as much certainty as our pale-face brothers can rely upon the return of the seasons. The son of the white chief says his father sends us greetings of friendship and good-will. This is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the vast prairie, whilemy people are few and resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.“‘The great, and I presume good, white chief sends us word that he wants to buy our lands, but is willing to allow us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous, for the red man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise also, for we are no longer in need of a great country.“‘There was a time when our people covered the whole land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea covers its shell-paved shore. That time has long since passed away with the greatness of tribes almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our untimely decay, or reproach my pale-face brothers with hastening it, for we, too, may have been somewhat to blame.“‘When our young men grew angry at some real or imaginary wrong and disfigured their faces with black paint, their hearts also are disfigured and turned black, and then cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men are not able to restrain them.’“He continued in this eloquent strain and closed by saying: ‘We will ponder your proposition and when we have decided we will tell you, but should we accept it I here and now make this first condition: That we shall not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my people; every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe.“‘Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb, as they swelter in the sun, along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur, thrill with memories of past events, connected with the fate of my people and the very dust under our feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors and their bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred. At night when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent and you think them deserted they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless.’”
“Old Chief Seattle was the largest Indian I ever saw, and by far the noblest looking. He stood nearly six feet in his moccasins, was broad-shouldered, deep-chested and finely proportioned. His eyes were large, intelligent, expressive and friendly when in repose, and faithfully mirrored the varying moods of the great soul that looked through them. He was usually solemn, silent and dignified, but on great occasions movedamong assembled multitudes like a Titan among Lilliputians, and his lightest word was law.
“When rising to speak in council or to tender advice, all eyes were turned upon him, and deep-toned, sonorous and eloquent sentences rolled from his lips like the ceaseless thunders of cataracts flowing from exhaustless fountains, and his magnificent bearing was as noble as that of the most civilized military chieftain in command of the force of a continent. Neither his eloquence, his dignity nor his grace was acquired. They were as native to his manhood as leaves and blossoms are to a flowering almond.
“His influence was marvelous. He might have been an emperor but all his instincts were democratic, and he ruled his subjects with kindness and paternal benignity.
“He was always flattered by marked attentions from white men, and never so much as when seated at their tables, and on such occasions he manifested more than anywhere else his genuine instincts of a gentleman.
“When Governor Stevens first arrived in Seattle and told the natives that he had been appointed commissioner of Indian affairs for Washington Territory, they gave him a demonstrative reception in front of Dr. Maynard’s office near the water front on Main Street. The bay swarmed with canoes and the shore was lined with a living mass of swaying, writhing, dusky humanity, until Old Chief Seattle’s trumpet-toned voice rolled over the immense multitude like the reveille of a bass drum, when silence became as instantaneous and perfect as that which follows a clap of thunder from a clear sky.
“The governor was then introduced to the native multitude by Dr. Maynard, and at once commenced in a conversational, plain and straightforward style, an explanation of his mission among them, which is too well understood to require recapitulation.
“When he sat down, Chief Seattle arose, with all the dignity of a senator who carries the responsibilities of a great nation on his shoulders. Placing one hand on the governor’s head, and slowly pointing heavenward with the index finger of the other, he commenced his memorable address in solemn and impressive tones:
“‘Yonder sky has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the clouds that never set. What Seattle says the chief Washington can rely upon, with as much certainty as our pale-face brothers can rely upon the return of the seasons. The son of the white chief says his father sends us greetings of friendship and good-will. This is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the vast prairie, whilemy people are few and resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.
“‘The great, and I presume good, white chief sends us word that he wants to buy our lands, but is willing to allow us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous, for the red man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise also, for we are no longer in need of a great country.
“‘There was a time when our people covered the whole land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea covers its shell-paved shore. That time has long since passed away with the greatness of tribes almost forgotten. I will not mourn over our untimely decay, or reproach my pale-face brothers with hastening it, for we, too, may have been somewhat to blame.
“‘When our young men grew angry at some real or imaginary wrong and disfigured their faces with black paint, their hearts also are disfigured and turned black, and then cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men are not able to restrain them.’
“He continued in this eloquent strain and closed by saying: ‘We will ponder your proposition and when we have decided we will tell you, but should we accept it I here and now make this first condition: That we shall not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my people; every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe.
“‘Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb, as they swelter in the sun, along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur, thrill with memories of past events, connected with the fate of my people and the very dust under our feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors and their bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred. At night when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent and you think them deserted they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless.’”
Concerning the well-known portrait of Sealth, Clarence Bagley has this to say:
“It was in the early summer of 1865 that the original picture which is now so much seen of the old chief was taken. I think I probably have a diary giving the day upon which the old chief sat for his picture. An amateur artist named E. M. Sammis had secured a camera at Olympia and coming to Seattle established himself in a ramshackle building at the southeast corner of what is now Main and First Avenue South. Old Chief Seattle used often to hang about the gallery andscrutinize the pictures with evident satisfaction. I myself spent not a little time in and about the gallery and on the particular day the picture of the old chief was taken, was there. It occurred to the photographer to get a picture of the chief. The latter was easily persuaded to sit and it is a wrong impression, that has become historic, that the Indians generally were afraid of the photographer’s art, considering it black magic.“The chief’s picture was taken and I printed the first copy taken from the negative. There may possibly have been photographs taken of the old chief at a later date, but I do not remember any, certainly none earlier, that I ever knew of.”
“It was in the early summer of 1865 that the original picture which is now so much seen of the old chief was taken. I think I probably have a diary giving the day upon which the old chief sat for his picture. An amateur artist named E. M. Sammis had secured a camera at Olympia and coming to Seattle established himself in a ramshackle building at the southeast corner of what is now Main and First Avenue South. Old Chief Seattle used often to hang about the gallery andscrutinize the pictures with evident satisfaction. I myself spent not a little time in and about the gallery and on the particular day the picture of the old chief was taken, was there. It occurred to the photographer to get a picture of the chief. The latter was easily persuaded to sit and it is a wrong impression, that has become historic, that the Indians generally were afraid of the photographer’s art, considering it black magic.
“The chief’s picture was taken and I printed the first copy taken from the negative. There may possibly have been photographs taken of the old chief at a later date, but I do not remember any, certainly none earlier, that I ever knew of.”
With regard to Sealth’s oratory, D. T. Denny relates that when the chief with his “tillicum” camped on the “Point” near the site of the New England Hotel, often in the evening he would stand up and address his people. D. T. Denny’s home was near the site of the Stevens Hotel (Marion and First Avenue, Seattle), and many Indians were camped near by. When these heard Chief Sealth’s voice, they would turn their heads in a listening attitude and evidently understood what he was saying, although he was about three-fourths of a mile away, such was the resonance and carrying power of his voice.
My father has also related to me this incident: Sealth and his people camped alongside the little white settlement at Alki. While thereone of his wives died and A. A. Denny made a coffin for the body, but they wrapped the same in so many blankets that it would not go in and they were obliged to remove several layers, although they probably felt regret as the number of wrappings no doubt evidenced wealth and position.
D. T. Denny was well acquainted with George Seattle, or See-an-ump-kun, one of Sealth’s sons, who was a friendly, good-natured Indian, married to a woman of the Sklallam tribe. The other surviving son when the whites arrived, was called Jim Seattle.
Thlid Kanem was a cousin of Sealth.
On the 7th of June, 1866, the famous old chieftain joined the Great Majority.
He had outlived many of his race, doubtless because of his temperate habits.
If, as the white people concluded, he was born in 1786, his age was eighty years. It might well have been greater, as they have no records and old Indians show little change often in twenty or twenty-five years, as I have myself observed.
In 1890 some leading pioneers of Seattle erected a monument to his memory over his grave in the Port Madison reservation. A Christian emblem it is, a cross of Italian marble adorned with an ivy wreath and bears this legend:
“SEATTLEChief of the Suqamps and Allied Tribes,Died June 7, 1866.The Firm Friend of the Whites, and for Him theCity of Seattle was Named by ItsFounders.”
Also on the side opposite,
“Baptismal name, Noah Sealth, Age probably80 years.”
LESCHI.
Leschi was a noted Nesqually-Klickitat chief, who at the head of a body of warriors attacked Seattle in 1856.
Other chiefs implicated were, Kitsap, Kanasket, Quiemuth, Owhi and Coquilton.
Leschi being accused of influencing the Indians at Seattle, who were friendly, in January, 1856, an attempt was made to capture him by Captain Keyes of Fort Steilacoom. Keyes sent Maloney and his company in the Hudson Bay Company’s steamer “Beaver” to take him prisoner.
They attempted to land but Leschi gathered up his warriors and prepared to fight. Being at a decided disadvantage, as but a few could land at a time, the soldiers were obliged to withdraw. Keyes made a second attempt in the surveying steamer “Active;” having no cannon he tried to borrow a howitzer from the “Decatur” at Seattle, but the captain refused to loan it and Keyes returned to get a gun at the fort. Leschiprudently withdrew to Puyallup, where he continued his warlike preparations. Followed by quite an army of hostile Indians, he landed on the shore of Lake Washington, east of Seattle, at a point near what is now called Leschi Park, and on the 26th of January, 1856, made the memorable attack on Seattle.
The cunning and skill of the Indian in warfare were no match for the white man’s cannon and substantial defenses and Leschi was defeated. He threatened a second attack but none was ever made. By midsummer the war was at an end.
By an agreement of a council held in the Yakima country, between Col. Wright and the conquered chiefs, among whom were Leschi, Quiemuth, Nelson, Stahi and the younger Kitsap, they were permitted to go free on parole, having promised to lead peaceable lives. Leschi complied with the agreement but feared the revenge of white men, so gave himself up to Dr. Tolmie, as stated elsewhere. Dr. Tolmie was Chief Factor of the Hudson Bay Company. He came from Scotland in 1833 with another young surgeon and served in the medical department at Fort Vancouver several years. Dr. Tolmie was a prominent figure at Fort Nesqually, a very influential man with the Indians and distinguished for his ability; he lived in Victoria many years, where he died at a good old age.
TYPES OF INDIAN HOUSES
A special term of court was held to try Leschi for a murder which it could not be proven he committed and the jury failed to agree. He was tried again in March, 1857, convicted and sentenced to be hanged on the 10th of June. The case was carried up to the supreme court and the verdict sustained. Again he was sentenced to die on the 22nd of January, 1858. A strong appeal was made by those who wished to see justice done, to Gov. McMullin, who succeeded Gov. Stevens, but a protest prevailed, and when the day set for execution arrived, a multitude of people gathered to witness it at Steilacoom. But the doomed man’s friends saw the purpose was revenge and a sharp reproof was administered. The sheriff and his deputy were arrested, for selling liquor to the Indians, before the hour appointed, and held until the time passed. Greatly chagrined at being frustrated, the crowd held meetings the same evening and by appealing to the legislature and some extraordinary legislation in sympathy with them, supplemented by “ground and lofty tumbling” in the courts, Leschi was sentenced for the third time.
On the 19th of February, 1858, worn by sickness and prolonged imprisonment he was murdered in accordance with the sentiment of his enemies.
No doubt the methods ofsavagewarfare were not approved, but that did not prevent their hanging a man on parole.
On July 3rd, 1895, a large gathering of Indians assembled on the Nesqually reservation. Over one thousand were there. They met to remove the bones of Leschi and Quiemuth to the reservation. The ceremonies were very impressive; George Leschi, a nephew of Leschi and son of Quiemuth, made a speech in the Indian tongue. He said the war was caused by the whites demanding that the Nesqually and Puyallup Indians be removed to the Quiniault reservation on the Pacific Coast, and their reservation thrown open for settlement. It was in battling for the rights of their people and to preserve the lands of their forefathers, he said, that the war was inaugurated by the Indian chiefs.
PAT KANEM.
The subject of this sketch was one of the most interesting characters brought into prominence by the conflict of the two races in early days of conquest in the Northwest. That he was sometimes misunderstood was inevitable as he was self-contained and independent in his nature and probably concealed his motives from friend and foe alike.
The opinion of the Indians was not wholly favorable to him as he became friendly to the white people, especially so toward some who were influential.
Pat Kanem was one of seven brothers, his mother a Snoqualmie of which tribe he was the recognized leader, his father, of another tribe, the Soljampsh.
It is said that he planned the extermination or driving out of the whites and brought about a collision at old Fort Nesqually in 1849, when Leander Wallace was killed, he and his warriors having picked a quarrel with the Indians in that vicinity who ran to the fort for protection. It seems impossible to ascertain the facts as to the intention of the Snoqualmies because of conflicting accounts. Some who are well acquainted with the Indians think it was a quarrel, pure and simple, between the Indians camped near by and the visiting Snoqualmies, without any ulterior design upon the white men or upon the fort itself. Also, Leander Wallace persisted in boasting that he could settle the difficulty with a club and contrary to the persuasions of the people in the fort went outside, thereby losing his life.
Four of Pat Kanem’s brothers were arrested; and although one shot killed Wallace, two Indians were hung, a proceeding which would hardly have followed had they been white men. John Kanem, one of Pat Kanem’s brothers, often visited Mr. and Mrs. D. T. Denny afterward, and would repeat again and again, “They killed my brother” (Kluskie mem-a-loose nika ow).
A Snoqualmie Indian in an interview recently said that Qushun (Little Cloud) persuaded Pat Kanem to give up his brother so that he might surely obtain and maintain the chiefship. Whatever may have been his attitude at first toward the white invaders he afterward became their ally in subduing the Indian outbreak.
As A. A. Denny recounts in his valuable work “Pioneer Days on Puget Sound,” Pat Kanem gave him assurance of his steadfast friendship before the war and further demonstrated it by appearing according to previous agreement, accompanied by women and children of the tribe, obviously a peace party, with gifts of choice game which he presented on board to the captain of the “Decatur.”
With half a hundred or more of his warriors, his services were accepted by the governor and they applied themselves to the gruesome industry of taking heads from the hostile ranks. Eighty dollars for a chief’s head and twenty for a warrior’s were the rewards offered.
Lieut. Phelps, gratefully remembered by the settlers of Seattle, thus described his appearance at Olympia, after having invested some of his pay in “Boston ictas” (clothes): “Pat Kanem was arrayed in citizen’s garb, including congress gaiters, white kid gloves, and a white shirt with standing collar reaching half-way up his ears, and the whole finished off with a flaming red neck-tie.”
Pat Kanem died while yet young; he must have been regarded with affection by his people. Years afterward when one of his tribe visited an old pioneer, he was given a photograph of Pat Kanem to look at; wondering at his silence thefamily were struck by observing that he was gazing intently on the pictured semblance of his dead and gone chieftain, while great tears rolled unchecked down the bronze cheeks. What thoughts of past prosperity, the happy, roving life of the long ago and those who mingled in it, he may have had, we cannot tell.
STUDAH.
Studah, or Williams, was one of three sons of a very old Duwampsh chief, “Queaucton,” who brought them to A. A. Denny asking that he give them “Boston” names. He complied by calling them Tecumseh, Keokuk and William.
The following sketch was written by Rev. G. F. Whitworth, a well-known pioneer:
“William, the chief of the surviving Indians of the Duwampsh tribe, died at the Indian camp on Cedar River on Wednesday, April 1. He was one of the few remaining Indians who were at all prominent in the early settlement of this country, and is almost, if not actually, the last of those who were ever friendly to the whites. His father, who died about the time that the first white settlements were made in this country, was the principal or head chief of the Duwamish Indians. He left three sons, Tecumseh, Keokuk and William. All of whom are now dead. Tecumseh, presumably the eldest son, succeeded his father, and was recognized as chief until he was deposed by Capt. (now Gen.) Dent, U. S. A., who acted under authority of the United States governmentin relation to the Indians, at that time. He had some characteristics which seemed to disqualify him for the office, while on the other hand William seemed pre-eminently fitted to fill the position, and was therefore chief and had been recognized both by whites and Indians up to the time of his death.“At the time of the Indian war, he, like Seattle and Curley, was a true friend of the whites. The night before Seattle was attacked there was a council of war held in the woods back of the town, and William attended that council, and his voice was heard for peace and against war. He was always friendly to the whites, and for nearly forty years he has been faithful in his friendship to E. W. Smithers, to whom I am indebted for much of the information contained in this article.“Those who knew William will remember that he was distinguished for natural dignity of manner. He was an earnest and sincere Catholic, was a thoroughly good Indian, greatly respected by his tribe, and having the confidence of those among the whites who knew him. William was an orator and quite eloquent in his own language. On one occasion shortly after Capt. Hill, U. S. A., came to the territory, some complaints had been made to the superintendent, which were afterwards learned to be unfounded, asking to have the Duwamish Indians removed from Black River to the reservation. Capt. Hill was sent to perform this service, and went with asteamer to their camp, which was on Mr. Smither’s farm, a little above the railroad bridge. The captain was accompanied by United States Agent Finkbonner, and on his arrival at the camp addressed the Indians, through an interpreter, informing them of the nature of his errand, and directing them to gather their ‘ictas’ without delay and go on board the steamer, to be at once conveyed to the reservation. William and his Indians listened respectfully to the captain, and when he had closed his remarks William made his reply.“His speech was about an hour in length, in which his eloquence was clearly exhibited. He replied that the father at Olympia or the Great Father at Washington City, had no right to remove his tribe. They were peaceful, had done no wrong. They were under no obligation to the government, had received nothing at its hands, and had asked for nothing; they had entered into no treaty; their lands had been taken from them. This, however, was their home. He had been born on Cedar River, and there he intended to remain, and there his bones should be laid. They were not willing to be removed. They could not be removed. He might bring the soldiers to take them, but when they should come he would not find them, for they would flee and hide themselves in the ‘stick’ (the woods) where the soldiers could not find them. Capt. Hill found himself in a dilemma, out of which he was extricatedby Mr. Smithers, who convinced the captain that the complaints were unfounded, and that with two or three exceptions those who had signed the complaint and made the request did not reside in that neighborhood, but lived miles away. They were living on Mr. Smithers’ land with his consent, and when he further guaranteed their good behavior, and Mrs. Smithers assured him that she had no fears and no grievance, but that when Mr. Smithers was away she considered them a protection rather than otherwise, the captain concluded to return without them, and to report the facts as he found them.“William’s last message was sent to Mr. Smithers a few days before he died, and was a request that he would see that he was laid to rest as befitted his rank, and not allow him to be buried like a seedy old vagrant, as many of the newcomers considered him to be.“It is hardly necessary for me to say that this request was faithfully complied with, and that on Friday, April 3, his remains were interred in the Indian burying ground near Renton. The funeral was a large one, Indians from far and near coming to render their last tribute of respect to his memory.“From the time of his birth until his death he had lived in the region of Cedar and Black Rivers, seventy-nine years.“His successor as chief will be his nephew, Rogers, who is a son of Tecumseh.”
“William, the chief of the surviving Indians of the Duwampsh tribe, died at the Indian camp on Cedar River on Wednesday, April 1. He was one of the few remaining Indians who were at all prominent in the early settlement of this country, and is almost, if not actually, the last of those who were ever friendly to the whites. His father, who died about the time that the first white settlements were made in this country, was the principal or head chief of the Duwamish Indians. He left three sons, Tecumseh, Keokuk and William. All of whom are now dead. Tecumseh, presumably the eldest son, succeeded his father, and was recognized as chief until he was deposed by Capt. (now Gen.) Dent, U. S. A., who acted under authority of the United States governmentin relation to the Indians, at that time. He had some characteristics which seemed to disqualify him for the office, while on the other hand William seemed pre-eminently fitted to fill the position, and was therefore chief and had been recognized both by whites and Indians up to the time of his death.
“At the time of the Indian war, he, like Seattle and Curley, was a true friend of the whites. The night before Seattle was attacked there was a council of war held in the woods back of the town, and William attended that council, and his voice was heard for peace and against war. He was always friendly to the whites, and for nearly forty years he has been faithful in his friendship to E. W. Smithers, to whom I am indebted for much of the information contained in this article.
“Those who knew William will remember that he was distinguished for natural dignity of manner. He was an earnest and sincere Catholic, was a thoroughly good Indian, greatly respected by his tribe, and having the confidence of those among the whites who knew him. William was an orator and quite eloquent in his own language. On one occasion shortly after Capt. Hill, U. S. A., came to the territory, some complaints had been made to the superintendent, which were afterwards learned to be unfounded, asking to have the Duwamish Indians removed from Black River to the reservation. Capt. Hill was sent to perform this service, and went with asteamer to their camp, which was on Mr. Smither’s farm, a little above the railroad bridge. The captain was accompanied by United States Agent Finkbonner, and on his arrival at the camp addressed the Indians, through an interpreter, informing them of the nature of his errand, and directing them to gather their ‘ictas’ without delay and go on board the steamer, to be at once conveyed to the reservation. William and his Indians listened respectfully to the captain, and when he had closed his remarks William made his reply.
“His speech was about an hour in length, in which his eloquence was clearly exhibited. He replied that the father at Olympia or the Great Father at Washington City, had no right to remove his tribe. They were peaceful, had done no wrong. They were under no obligation to the government, had received nothing at its hands, and had asked for nothing; they had entered into no treaty; their lands had been taken from them. This, however, was their home. He had been born on Cedar River, and there he intended to remain, and there his bones should be laid. They were not willing to be removed. They could not be removed. He might bring the soldiers to take them, but when they should come he would not find them, for they would flee and hide themselves in the ‘stick’ (the woods) where the soldiers could not find them. Capt. Hill found himself in a dilemma, out of which he was extricatedby Mr. Smithers, who convinced the captain that the complaints were unfounded, and that with two or three exceptions those who had signed the complaint and made the request did not reside in that neighborhood, but lived miles away. They were living on Mr. Smithers’ land with his consent, and when he further guaranteed their good behavior, and Mrs. Smithers assured him that she had no fears and no grievance, but that when Mr. Smithers was away she considered them a protection rather than otherwise, the captain concluded to return without them, and to report the facts as he found them.
“William’s last message was sent to Mr. Smithers a few days before he died, and was a request that he would see that he was laid to rest as befitted his rank, and not allow him to be buried like a seedy old vagrant, as many of the newcomers considered him to be.
“It is hardly necessary for me to say that this request was faithfully complied with, and that on Friday, April 3, his remains were interred in the Indian burying ground near Renton. The funeral was a large one, Indians from far and near coming to render their last tribute of respect to his memory.
“From the time of his birth until his death he had lived in the region of Cedar and Black Rivers, seventy-nine years.
“His successor as chief will be his nephew, Rogers, who is a son of Tecumseh.”
“ANGELINE.”
Ka-ki-is-il-ma, called Angeline by the white settlers, about whom so much has been written, was a daughter of Sealth.
In an interview, some interesting facts were elicited.
Angeline saw white people first at Nesqually, “King George” people, the Indians called the Hudson Bay Company’s agents and followers.
She saw the brothers of Pat Kanem arrested for the killing of Wallace; she said that Sealth thought it was right that the two Snoqualmies were executed.
When a little girl she wore deerskin robes or long coats and a collar of shells; in those days her tribe made three kinds of robes, some of “suwella,” “shulth” or mountain beaver fur, and of deer-skins; the third was possibly woven, as they made blankets of mountain sheep’s wool and goat’s hair.
Angeline was first married to a big chief of the Skagits, Dokubkun by name; her second husband was Talisha, a Duwampsh chief. She was a widow of about forty-five when Americans settled on Elliott Bay. Two daughters, Chewatum or Betsy and Mamie, were her only children known to the white people, and both married white men. Betsy committed suicide by hanging herself in the shed room of a house on Commercial Street, tying herself to a rafter by a red bandanna handkerchief. Betsy left an infant son, since grown up, who lived with Angeline many years. Mary or Mamie married Wm. DeShaw and has been dead for some time.
It has been said that some are born great, some achieve greatness, while others have greatness thrust upon them. Of the last described class, Angeline was a shining representative. Souvenir spoons, photographs, and cups bearing her likeness have doubtless traveled over a considerable portion of the civilized world, all of the notoriety arising therefrom certainly being unsought by the poor old Indian woman.
Newspaper reporters, paragraphers, and magazine writers have never wearied of limning her life, recounting even the smallest incidents and making of her a conspicuous figure in the literature of the Northwest.
It quite naturally follows that some absurd things have been written, some heartless, others pathetic and of real literary value, although it has been difficult for the tenderfoot to avoid errors. Upon the event of her death, which occurred on Sunday, May 31st, 1896, a leading paper published an editorial in which a brief outline of the building of the city witnessed by Angeline was given and is here inserted:
“Angeline, as she had been named by the early settlers, had seen many wonders. Born on the lonely shores of an unknown country, reared in the primeval forest, she saw all the progress of modern civilization. She saw the first cabin ofthe pioneer; the struggles for existence on the part of the white man with nature; the hewing of the log, then the work of the sawmill, the revolt of the aboriginal inhabitants against the intruder and the subjugation of the inferior race; the growth from one hut to a village; from village to town; the swelling population with its concomitants of stores, ships and collateral industries; the platting of a town; the organization of government; the accumulation of commerce; the advent of railroads and locomotives; of steamships and great engines of maritime warfare; the destruction of a town by fire and the marvelous energy which built upon its site, a city. Where there had been a handful of shacks she saw a city of sixty thousand people; in place of a few canoes she saw a great fleet of vessels, stern-wheelers, side-wheelers, propellers, whalebacks, the Charleston and Monterey. She saw the streets lighted by electricity; saw the telephone, elevators and many other wonders.“Death came to her as it does to all; but it came as the precursor of extinction, it adds another link in the chain which exemplifies the survival of the fittest.”
“Angeline, as she had been named by the early settlers, had seen many wonders. Born on the lonely shores of an unknown country, reared in the primeval forest, she saw all the progress of modern civilization. She saw the first cabin ofthe pioneer; the struggles for existence on the part of the white man with nature; the hewing of the log, then the work of the sawmill, the revolt of the aboriginal inhabitants against the intruder and the subjugation of the inferior race; the growth from one hut to a village; from village to town; the swelling population with its concomitants of stores, ships and collateral industries; the platting of a town; the organization of government; the accumulation of commerce; the advent of railroads and locomotives; of steamships and great engines of maritime warfare; the destruction of a town by fire and the marvelous energy which built upon its site, a city. Where there had been a handful of shacks she saw a city of sixty thousand people; in place of a few canoes she saw a great fleet of vessels, stern-wheelers, side-wheelers, propellers, whalebacks, the Charleston and Monterey. She saw the streets lighted by electricity; saw the telephone, elevators and many other wonders.
“Death came to her as it does to all; but it came as the precursor of extinction, it adds another link in the chain which exemplifies the survival of the fittest.”
These comments are coldly judicial and exactly after the mind of the unsympathetic tenderfoot or the “hard case” of early days. In speaking of the “survival of the fittest” and the “subjugation of the inferior race” a contrast isdrawn flattering to the white race, but any mention of the incalculable injury, outrages, indignities and villainies practiced upon the native inhabitants by evil white men is carefully avoided. Angeline “saw” a good many other things not mentioned in the above eulogy upon civilization. She saw the wreck wrought by the white man’s drink; the Indians never made a fermented liquor of their own.
Angeline said that her father, Sealth, once owned all the land on which Seattle is built, that he was friendly to the white people and wanted them to have the land; that she was glad to see fine buildings, stores and such like, but not the saloons; she did not like it at all that the white people built saloons and Joe, her grandson, would go to them and get drunk and then they made her pay five dollars to get him out of jail!
However, I will not dwell here on the dark side of the poor Indians’ history, I turn therefore to more pleasant reminiscence.
Ankuti (a great while ago) when the days were long and happy, in the time of wild blackberries, two pioneer women with their children, of whom the writer was one, embarked with Angeline and Mamie in a canoe, under the old laurel (madrona) tree and paddled down Elliott Bay to a fine blackberry patch on W. N. Bell’s claim.
After wandering about a long while they sat down to rest on mossy logs beside the trail. They sat facing the water, the day was waning,and as they thought of their return one of them said, “O look at the canoe!” It was far out on the shining water; the tide had come up while the party wandered in the woods and the canoe, with its stake, was quite a distance from the bank. Mamie ran down the trail to the beach, took off her moccasins and swam out to the canoe, her mother and the rest intently watching her. Then she dived down to the bottom; as her round, black head disappeared beneath the rippling surface, Angeline said “Now she’s gone.” But in a few moments we breathed a sigh of relief as up she rose, having pulled up the stake, and climbed into the canoe, although how she did it one cannot tell, and paddled to the shore to take in the happy crew. This little incident, but more especially the scene, the forms and faces of my friends, the dark forest, moss-cushioned seats under drooping branches, and the graceful canoe afloat on the silvery water—and itdidseem for a few, long moments that Mamie was gone as Angeline said in her anxiety for her child’s safety showing she too was a human mother—all this has never left my memory!
Angeline lived for many years in her little shanty near the water front, assisted often with food and clothing from kindly white friends. She had a determination to live, die and be buried in Seattle, as it was her home, and that, too, near her old pioneer friends, thus typifying one of the dearest wishes of the Indians.
She was one of the good Indian washerwomen, gratefully remembered by pioneer housewives. These faithful servitors took on them much toil, wearing and wearisome, now accomplished by machinery or Chinese.
The world is still deceived by the external appearance; but even the toad “ugly and venomous” was credited with a jewel in its head.
Now Angeline was ugly and untidy, and all that, but not as soulless as some who relegated her to the lowest class of living creatures.
A white friend whom she often visited, Mrs. Sarah Kellogg, said to the writer, “Angeline lived up to the light she had; she was honest and would never take anything that was offered her unless she needed it. I always made her some little present, saying, ‘Well, Angeline, what do you want? Some sugar?’ ‘No, I have plenty of sugar, I would like a little tea.’ So it was with anything else mentioned, if she was supplied she said so. I had not seen her for quite a while at one time, and hearing she was sick sent my husband to the door of her shack to inquire after her. Sure enough she lay in her bunk unable to rise. When asked if she wanted anything to eat, she replied, ‘No, I have plenty of muck-amuck; Arthur Denny sent me a box full, but I want some candles and matches.’
“She told me that she was getting old and might die any time and that she never went to bed without saying her prayers.
“During a long illness she came to my house quite often, but was sent away by those in charge; when I was at last able to sit up, I saw her approaching the house and went down to the kitchen to be ready to receive her. As usual I inquired after her wants, when she somewhat indignantly asked, ‘Don’t you suppose I can come to see you without wanting something?’
“One day as she sat in my kitchen a young white girl asked before her, in English, of course, ‘Does Angeline know anything about God?’ She said quickly in Chinook, ‘You tell that girl that I know God sees me all the time; I might lie or steal and you would never find it out, but God would see me do it.’”
In her old age she exerted herself, even when feeble from sickness, to walk long distances in quest of food and other necessities, stumping along with her cane and sitting down now and then on a door-step to rest.
All the trades-people knew her and were generally kind to her.
At last she succumbed to an attack of lung trouble and passed away. Having declared herself a Roman Catholic, she was honorably buried from the church in Seattle, Rev. F. X. Prefontaine officiating, while several of the old pioneers were pallbearers.
A canoe-shaped coffin had been prepared on which lay a cross of native rhododendrons and a cluster of snowballs, likely from an old garden.A great concourse of people were present, many out of curiosity, no doubt, while some were there with real feeling and solemn thought. Her old friend, Mrs. Maynard, stood at the head of the grave and dropped in a sprig of cedar. She spoke some encouraging words to Joe Foster, Betsy’s son, and Angeline’s sole mourner, advising him to live a good life.
And so Angeline was buried according to her wish, in the burying ground of the old pioneers.
YUTESTID.
After extending numerous invitations, I was pleasantly surprised upon my return to my home one day to find Mr. and Mrs. Yutestid awaiting an interview.
In the first place this Indian name is pronouncedYute-stidand he is the only survivor (in 1898) of Chief Sealth’s once numerous household. His mother was doubtless a captive, a Cowichan of British Columbia; his father, a Puget Sound Indian from the vicinity of Olympia. He was quite old, he does not know how old, but not decrepit; Angeline said they grew up together.