The Vigilantes' Ghost: Seattle's Dark Secret in Two Maple Trees

Not more than ten thousand miles away, Mown from the hills, to a breezy bay, Which is much like this city stands. Filled with thinking heads and with skillful hands, With a forest of masts afloat on her tides And a network of railroads piercing her sides, With wise men, and rich men, and good men and preachers, Her courts full of lawyers, her schools full of teachers, Her jails full of—[illegible]—the world not your pity, For she's a remarkable peaceable city.

In the triangular square of this proud old town, Facing it on the north and frowning down On the passer-by, stand two maple trees, Sturdy and old; the evening breeze, As it ripples and sways their branches wide, Sweeps aside for a moment the leaves which hide, Or almost hide, two beams of pine Placed together line on line And side to side, sun-dried and old, Bleached with the rain and the winter's cold, Scarred and cracked in the sun's fierce rays, Seamed and furrowed with length of days. Whitened like some bleak skeleton As they gleam in the flush of the sinking sun For these trees with their burden so long have stood The ends of the beams are incased in wood Which, growing as grew the maple's stout Has encircled the ends of the beams about. To the casual beholder they seem to be Mortised into the solid tree. They add no beauty unto the town But no man so bold as to cut them down.

Years ago, so long, they say, That the infant then is now old and gray, This city was not, as it is today In the 'peaceable,' 'orderly,' 'business' way, But its streets were polluted with men of crime From many a distant shore and clime And in many a spot its pavements wood Was dyed with innocent human blood; And the sighs of the widowed and fatherless, Poured out in their woe and helplessness, Had formed in a cloud, which settling down Hung like a pall o'er that wicked town.

That the prayers of the good people left in the place Could not reach the throne of heavenly grace, Through the accusing cloud of sighs, and tears; Then a message comes to the worshippers— "What behove? it to idly trust and pray 'Arouse ye! and wipe that cloud away,' 'For many and many a deed of sin Your City's accursed, and those within, Who's hands are stained with innocent blood, 'Must be brought to judgment, before the cloud 'That shadows your beautiful town like a pall, 'Shall be lifted from all you.'" It ceased, 'twas all.

The judges sat in their thrones of State, The lawyers argued in full debate, The jurors pondered o'er line and clause, But they all forgot what their duty was; The preachers thundered from pulpit and desk, The teachers taught, and the wise men vexed Their brains for a way to save the town, From the awful cloud which kept settling down; While the wicked and cruel without remorse Scoffed at the law which was not enforced.

Whom the rich men, the wise men, the good man and preachers, The jurors, the lawyers, the judges and preachers, From every part of the frightened place, Were gathered together, a message flashed Through the terrible cloud, and loud and clear, It spoke to each awe struck heart and ear, "Why stand ye idle, like blocks of stone? 'There is blood on your hands, will ye not atone?'

Then the rich men, the wise men, the good men and preachers, The strong men, the brave men, the schoolmen and teachers, When the voice had ceased, and the air was still, As one man arose, with a terrible will They seized the confessors who caused all this, And they offered them up as a sacrifice; Between those trees that are standing here, Upon those beams, in the angular square Of the proud old town they hung in a row, That all men should see it and all should know, And the people pausing, their duty looked for The cloud, when lo! 'twas gone.

In the halls of justice, at bench and bar, The judges and lawyers and jurors are; And a wind from these trees hath blown, And it falls on their ears like a dying groan: "Ye faithless servants how can ye meet 'An offended God at his judgment seat? 'What hope for ye, who forsake his office 'Forget your vows to uphold his laws?'

And the jurors and lawyers and judges Reverently bowed their heads in prayer; And as they raised their eyes again, Behold! the accusing wind passed on.

Since then, when the sword of right is dull Too dull to cut, as the old men tell, Or is held too loosely in the hand By the one who is set to judge the land, When crime runs riot, and wrong is done And law is silent, and justice dumb, When the wicked and cruel in dark or light, Defy a power to slow to smite; And the sighs of the fatherless arise; A wind comes waft from Paradise, It blows through the maples in the square To the court where the judges and lawyers are. It awakes them all with commanding tone, It thrills like the touch of a charnel bone And it whispers to each in his heart and ear: "Why sit ye neglectful of duty here? 'Atone ye, remember what things came true 'In eighteen hundred and eighty two, 'Remember, and do not rouse again 'The fire that sleeps in the breasts of men.'"

So the rich men, and wise men, the good men and preachers, The jurors, the lawyers, the judges and teachers, All reverence the maple trees standing there, With their beams of pine, in the city square, To remotest age they will hand them down. And they call them 'The Guards of Their Fine Old Town.'