June 6th, 1889, will ever be a memorable day in the history of
Seattle--that being the day of the Great Fire which, like a besom of
destruction swept out of existence a goodly portion of the embryo city.
Brilliant prospects, and glowing anticipations, evanished like the
rainbow amid the storm of fire. Nearly all the business houses were
reduced to ashes; or, if any portion of their roughly serrated and
toppling walls remained, they were a silent and menancing memento of the
fierce power of the fire-fiend. The fire originated in a paint shop, on
the water front near Madison Street, in the careless upsetting of a
flaming pot of varnish. There was a stiff breeze from the northwest,
constantly accelerated by the ever-increasing heat. The fire, easily
overcoming the heroic efforts of the Volunteer Fire Department, swept
south and southeasterly, crossing Second Avenue at the rear end of the
Boston Block, burning a large frame building immediately south of, and
abutting upon that block; thence, in the same direction southeast nearly
on a straight line, thus taking in the Catholic Church; thence onward to
the Bay, making a space swept by the fire a large triangle, with an area
of from thirty to forty acres.
The Boston Block was saved through strenuous efforts of its tenants;
long scantling were carried by them into the hall on the second story.
Having raised the windows at the end of the hall, the south end of the
frame building burning first, we succeeded by our united strength in
forcing the unburned portion over into the consuming caldron of fire to
the south. Thus the Boston Block, though somewhat scorched, was saved.
Jacobs & Jenner had their law offices near the north entrance, and
during the progress of the fire many persons whose residences or places
of business were along its actual or threatened track, presuming on our
generosity and permission, brought armloads of portable valuables,
snatched by them from the very teeth of the fire, and in an excited
manner, placed them against one of the walls in the offices. So doing,
they rushed out in the hope of reaching their residences or places of
business again; but the surrounding wall of fire, with its intense heat,
forbade. Some of them soon returned and dropped into seats, and their
countenances were the pictures of sadness, sorrow and despair. I said to
one, a noble specimen of physical manhood and latent energy: "Sir, your
actions are unmanly; hope, even in your case, has not bidden the world
farewell; cheer up, sir--just before dawn the darkness is the deepest."
Within a year from that time my admonished friend was worth far more
than he was before the fire; and he often reminded me of my rebuke, as
he called it.
Being satisfied that the offices, papers, library and furniture were
safe, I locked the doors and went up to my residence on Fourth Avenue,
where I had a commanding view of the progress of the fire.
The view was grand but terrible--sublime but cruel. I never before was
so impressed with the idea of annihilation, as I was in viewing that
rolling, rushing, leaping and devouring volume or field of fire. In
other days I had witnessed miles of fire, impelled by a fierce wind
rushing over a prairie covered with tall and dry grass; but it only
stirred within me the emotions of beauty, grandeur, and sublimity; there
was nothing in it of terror or desolation, nothing of the wrecking of
brilliant prospects, nothing of blighted hopes, nor of gloomy
disappointment intensifying into despair. Ever and anon, as the rushing
waves of the Seattle fire would roll over and envelope a drug or other
store where powder or other explosives were kept, a volume of flame
would shoot upward, with a deafening roar, towards the clouds, as though
claiming the storm-king as its kinsman.
To the owners of lots in the burned district the fire was a blessing in
disguise. To them there was a smiling face behind a seemingly frowning
Providence. Even if they were the owners of the frail wooden structure
that had encumbered their lots, the structures added nothing to the
value; and the rapid and unprecedented increase in the value of their
holdings amply compensated for any losses by the fire. The real loosers
were the renters of shops, stores or saloons, where goods, tools,
materials and machinery were destroyed by the intense heat, or went up
wholly in flames.
But a few families lived in the zone of the fire. As to them, many kind
hands soon removed their household goods beyond the danger-line.
The district swept by the fire was the local habitation of the fallen
angels, hoboes, and gamblers, and of that large class whose particular
mode of subsistence is, and always has been, an unsolved mystery. The
fallen angels and the upper class of gamblers could take care of
themselves. The hoboes and the class of mysterious subsistence-men were
afloat and hungry. Besides these, there were a large number of worthy
and needy persons whom it is always a pleasure for the good to help;
hence, a free-lunch house was opened in the Armory. There is always in a
free-lunch a fascination that tends to increase the number of applicants
therefor. This general law had no exception here. This led to a
stringent examination of the right of all who appeared to partake of the
generous bounty offered to the worthy and needy. This careful and
necessary scrutiny soon led to a stoppage of the free-lunch business.
The worthy in many cases needlessly took offense, and the baser order of
fellows were loud in their denunciation of the alleged selfishness of
the generous purveyors. The people of Tacoma promptly and nobly rushed
to the assistance of Seattle, with provisions and personal services. The
leading men of that city poured out their means lavishly and served as
waiters at the tents erected for the feeding of the multitude.
Business soon revived with an enthusiastic rebound. The town was
scorched, not killed. It had passed through an ordeal of fire and was
found to be not wanting in true metal. Work was furnished for all
desiring it. The hoboes departed, and with them most of the
mysterious-subsistence men. The burned district has been rebuilt with
stately blocks of brick, or stone, or steel and cement, and its streets
and sidewalks have been paved with brick, stone or asphalt. Not a smell
of fire nor sight of wooden structure remains in this once ash-covered
and desolate district.