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BATTLE OF SEATTLE
See also: Mother Damnable in this section
CHIEF SEATTLE
Chief Noah Sealth (See-atch) was a leader of the Suquamish and Duwamish Native American tribes. Born around 1786, he died June 7, 1866, on the Suquamish reservation at Port Madison, Washington.
Like his father before him, Sealth was chief of the Suquamish tribe that settled on Bainbridge Island, and his mother was the daughter of a Duwamish chief. The Duwamish tribe settled on a small river in southwest Seattle across from the Puget Sound area.
History states that Chief Seattle was known to be a brave warrior—courageous, daring, and a great leader in his battles. He gained control over six tribes and pursued a working friendship with the Europeans like his father had done.
Chief Seattle was befriended by Seattle pioneer David Swinson Maynard, also known as “Doc.” Their friendship built the alliance between the Native Americans, and it also led to the naming of the city of Seattle. At the time the city was called Duwamps, named after the local Duwamish tribe. When Doc mentioned his interest in naming the city after Sealth in honor of the chief and his people, the chief was outraged due to the belief that if you speak the name of a deceased ancestor, it will disturb their spiritual rest. They worked out the problem, however, because the white settlers couldn’t pronounce his name correctly, which is why we say Seattle and not Sealth. Also, Doc didn’t think the chief would live too much longer and sweetened the deal with offering him a sum of fifty dollars for every year he lived. Surprisingly, the chief lived another thirty years, making it a sweeter deal for himself.
CHIEF SEATTLE
Besides the many other great things Chief Seattle has done, he was known for his poetic way with words. In one famous speech in December of 1854, Sealth addressed an outdoor gathering of Seattle locals on developing relations with the local Native Americans. Chief Seattle says in his native Lushootseed Language:
To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors—the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant-lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely-hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.
A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to mourn over the graves of a people once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see.
We will ponder your proposition, and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends, and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch. Our departed braves, fond mothers, glad, happy-hearted maidens, and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season, will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits. And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children’s children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them 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.”
These are truly powerful words of a poet and a very wise man. This was only a portion of his moving speech that was to open the minds of the white man. But, unfortunately, most white people didn’t speak his language, and it wasn’t until some years later that Dr. Henry A. Smith translated it into an English version.
Clarence B. Bagley reprinted a slightly altered version in his 1929 History of King County Washington. Bagley appended a new close without explanation or attribution:
“Dead—I say? There is no death. Only a change of worlds.”
Whether or not Chief Seattle would have said this, they are words truly inspired by a great man, whose spirit will live forever in the heart of Seattle.
2. PIONEER SQUARE
Pioneer Square is the birthplace of Seattle and may be thought of as the city’s first neighborhood. With its tumultuous history, this area may also be one of Seattle’s most haunted. Conflict between Native Americans and the pioneer settlers, the Great Seattle Fire, and even more recent tragedies have left their mark on this neighborhood. From untimely deaths to brutal murders and hangings of innocent people, Pioneer Square has its share of pain.
Along with the neighborhood’s rich history, this area holds a number of attractions. As the home of Seattle’s nightlife, Pioneer Square has a vast collection of art galleries, shops, bars, and restaurants. It is also one of the most architecturally diverse neighborhoods in the United States. Some of the must-sees of the area include the Pioneer Square Totem Pole, the “Sinking Ship” parking garage, and the statue of Chief Seattle.
Map Markers
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