The Great Seattle Fire
"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…
From: 1889 C.E. To: 1889 C.E.
Location: Seattle, Washington, United States of America
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From Memoirs of Orange Jacobs by Orange Jacobs, 10th mayor of Seattle, 1908.
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, vanished 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 menacing memento of the fierce power of the fire-fiend.
The fire originated in a paint shop, on the waterfront 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 losers 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.
Jacobs, Orange. Memoirs of Orange Jacobs. Lowman & Hanford. 1908.
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