"When the first gun was fired Mr. Butler and his wife were just sitting down to breakfast. They both jumped from the table and went to the door. The bullets from the answering volley struck all around them. Mrs. Butler hastened to the block-house and safely reached it. Butler gathered up a few valuables and followed in a short time. He, however, sought the friendly protection of logs and stumps, for the Indian rifles were now reloaded and the closeness of the whizzing bullets indicated that the Indians were watching his stealthy flight. He returned to his house in the same manner during the day for some portable valuables. While there, he went up stairs, but the bullets were rattling around in a manner a little too spiteful and plentiful, and he did not stay long. Those of the men who had rifles, took positions behind some protecting log or friendly stump, and fired at the spot where the puff of a rifle indicated an Indian warrior concealed. Whether these shots were effective or not, is unknown--they often caused a cessation of firing from that ambuscade. As full of terror as were the events of that February day, the duration of its effect on the minds of the pioneer settlers of the embryo city was but brief. It was but a thrilling passage in the unwritten history of pioneer life. After the roar of the Decatur's cannon and the sharp crack of the rifle had ceased, all returned to cabins and homes, and soundly slept and sweetly dreamed of the good time coming. Such is pioneer life, and such the mental conditions, and characters it begets. Still we cannot disguise the fact that had it not been for the presence of the war-ship Decatur, with her complement of guns and fighting men, the town would have been plundered and burned, and its inhabitants would have perished in a terrible massacre. "During that fated morning Chief Seattle with many of his tribe lay under the cover of the friendly shore-banks, silent and stolid spectators of the raging battle. During a lull in the firing, he, to the astonishment of all, leaped upon the bank and with arms flying, and voice roaring defiance, commenced a bending, bounding and contortion war-dance of the most intensified order. The hostiles quickly got the range, but as soon as the bullets commenced to sing around him in dangerous proximity, Seattle's feet flashed in air as he made a headlong plunge down the bank. Seattle's war-dance was over, and he attempted no repetition of the performance on that gloomy day. Many who witnessed this strange performance supposed that the old chieftain had received a mortal shot, but he had escaped without a scratch.