Part 14
There are two cases in our municipal history that I will briefly note as illustrations of this tendency. In neither, so far as I know and believe, was there any graft. In both I was to some extent officially connected; in the Rams-Horn case painfully so; in the Railroad Avenue case simply as an officer and protestant. Many years ago--the dates are not important--the Columbia and Puget Sound Railroad Company asked the City Council of Seattle for the grant of a right-of-way for a railroad track down and over West Street. This was the historic Ram's-Horn. I and a few others opposed the grant. The City Council hesitated. Its members desired the approval of the grant by the people, and especially by the lot-owners along the street, before they acted. A meeting was called at the Pavilion to secure, if possible, such approval. The meeting was fairly attended. Mr. James McNaught, a shrewd and able man and lawyer, was attorney for the Company. He read the proposed ordinance and explained its provisions, and then, with a glowing eulogy on the advantages of a railroad, closed amid the vociferous applause of the audience. I arose to oppose the grant; but as there was a continuous and determined cry of "Vote!" "Vote!" "Vote!" "Vote!" I resumed my seat. The proposed ordinance was approved by about a two-thirds vote of those present, and the City Council speedily enacted it into law. The Railroad Company built its road from the south end of the town and laid its track down to Columbia Street; there it stopped, to await the result of certain condemnation proceedings. The wearers of the shoe, although voting for its purchase, soon felt its pinch, and they wanted compensation for its pain. The Company threatened to go across Columbia Street. It was stopped by a judicial restraining order. Having been elected Corporation Counsel, I came into the case a short time before the hearing on the motion made by the Company for the vacation of this order. The former legal adviser of the City, and who had commenced the suit, I asked to continue in the case and to argue the pending motion. He did so, and made a technical and very ingenious argument against the validity of the grant. I must confess that I believed the ordinance valid, and that the objections urged against it were unsound, and I was fully convinced the Court would so hold. In the mean time Columbia Street had been graded and macadamized. Its surface was fully eighteen inches above the railroad track. Being fully informed by a careful personal inspection, and thorough measurement by experts, of the exact fact, I proposed to compromise. I first proposed to allow the Company to cross Columbia Street, but to cross at the existing grade. This would require a reconstruction of the tracks already finished, and subject the Company to many suits for damages in case of their change of grade. Secondly, I agreed to withdraw the pending suit if this proposal was accepted by the Company. This all took place in open Court, and the compromise was approved in open Court; the ordinance, at the request of the Company's attorney, was declared valid by the Court. The compromise was also approved.
The next morning, to my astonishment, a large force of men was put at work by the Company to cut through Columbia Street; basing its action on the alleged ground that the compromise was null and void because of a mutual mistake of the facts by the parties. There was no mutual mistake. I fully knew and understood all of the facts.
An incipient riot was in progress; but the interference of the police and the issuance of a restraining order soon put an end to operations. The newspapers emptied their vials of wrath on me as the principal sinner.
An appeal was taken by the Company to the Supreme Court, and that learned and unimpassioned tribunal affirmed every position taken by me in the case; it held the ordinance to be valid and the compromise binding. Thus, ended the somewhat celebrated Ram's-Horn case, and with it that railroad across Columbia Street.
On the publication of the decision of the Supreme Court, it was amusing to see my calumniators retreat to cover; still damning, however, with faint praise.
Railroad Avenue
There is one more topic of intensified local interest that I will briefly notice. I am now and always have been opposed, not to Railroad Avenue, which extends along the water-front of the city, but to the network of tracks permitted and authorized to be placed thereon. At the foot of Columbia Street, crossing Railroad Avenue to the west line thereof, you cross nine railroad tracks, or eighteen lines of slightly elevated railroad iron. Such are the existing and authorized conditions. I have always been opposed to those conditions; first, because they are unusual, unnecessary and dangerous; unusual, because no city can be named permitting such a nuisance; unnecessary, because one track, or, to be liberal, two tracks, with spurs to the warehouses on the west and the wholesale or commission houses on the east, where the conditions permit it, would be ample, under the control of an intelligent company or management, for all the purposes of trade and commerce; dangerous, as experience has shown: the killed and injured on this interlocked system, intensified by supervening and dense fogs, speak only by groans and death-knells. I have opposed this network of tracks because instead of being an aid to travel and commerce, it is an actual obstruction of them. The idea of doing the commercial business of a million people, or one-half a million, with the accompanying passenger traffic, across nine railroad tracks, carries with it a strong implication of the absurd. In actual operation this implication becomes an irritating reality. The City Council has recognized the fact and prohibited the closing by any railroad company of the mouth of any street for over five minutes; but this is only a partial aleviation, and not the removal of the obstruction or danger. Railroad No. 1 closes it for four-and-a-half minutes; Railroad No. 2 closes it for four-and-a-half minutes; No. 3, for the same length of time. The closing is really continuous. Thus legally you can stand in the street, endure the slush and rain for at least twelve minutes to study the beauties of nature and of an enveloping fog, and enjoy the beneficence of the clouds in dropping their garnered fatness down.
The irritation arising from these causes will intensify with the increase of population and the swelling of the volume of coastwise and ocean commerce. Let the population of West Seattle reach twenty thousand or more; let "the mosquito fleet" be doubled and ocean and coastwise steamers be multiplied, with the consequent enormous, increase of the volume of business--and the demand for the modification, or entire abolition, of this irritating nuisance will become imperative. Some of the railroads have wisely noted the indications of the coming storm and have tunnelled under the city, deeming it cheaper to pay interest on permanent tunnel investments, than to pay damages for slaughter and injury on the avenue. Railroad Avenue is now used, to a great extent, as a train make-up yard, as a switching-ground and as a depot for loaded and empty cars. This will be continued with a constantly increasing exasperation, until the City is compelled to re-purchase at an enormous expense, that which was granted as a free gift.
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 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.
Game, Animals and Hunting
With something of a reputation of a hunter, I have often been requested by Eastern, as well as local sportsmen, to give an enumeration and description of the game and wild animals in this State and in Oregon. I shall confine myself exclusively to this State. I have heretofore written a description and given an enumeration of the game and other wild animals in both States, but I have neither the manuscript, nor the newspaper which printed it. In again attempting an enumeration and description, I shall add some of my personal experiences, as well as those of others.
There were no quail native to Washington or to Oregon, except the southern portion thereof--save the mountain quail, a lonely solitary bird, of about twice the size of the bob-white. Its habitat is the dense copse or thicket. I have never seen them in flocks or groups, save when the mother was raising her large family of young birds. When no longer needing the mother's care, they pair off, and the young birds, or family separate.
They are very alert; they are great runners, but do not, unless hotly pursued, often take to wing. When they do, they are swift flyers and dart through the narrow openings in the tangled thicket with remarkable celerity. The male bird is proud and rather aristocratic in his bearing, and flourishes on his head a beautiful top-knot. I have bagged quite a number of them, but have nearly always shot them on the run and not on the wing. They are not numerous. Their flesh is delicate.
The California quail was brought into Washington at least fifty years or more ago. Three of us--James Montgomery, Judge Wingard and myself--in the fall of 1872 brought from Pennsylvania sixteen pairs of bob-whites, which were turned loose on Whidby Island. This was, so far as I know, the first and last importation of the bob-white to Washington. When turned loose on Whidby Island, they gave every indication of pleasure in being upon Mother Earth again. They ran about, jumped up in to the air, scratched the earth and wallowed in the dirt, and had to all appearances a play-spell, full of joy. They mixed readily with their California congeres; they have spread over Western Washington, and are quite numerous.
The pheasant, or ruffed grouse, are natives of Washington. They were very abundant in early days, but are fast disappearing. Being a bird easily bagged, and the flesh being of delicate flavor, they are fast vanishing before the advance of the settlements. The game laws may arrest their slaughter and prevent their complete annihilation; but I doubt it. The crab-apple, on which they principally feed, abounded in all the valleys and in the moist and rich uplands. The ground where the crab-apple tree flourished has been cleared and a portion of their food supply has been cut off. The repeating shotgun is also helping to reduce their number; and unless the game-laws are rigorously enforced, these causes will soon sound their doom. Right here I am tempted to state that the crab-apple of this country is entirely different in form and size from the same fruit in the East. Here, it is not round but elongated, and is about as large as a good-sized bean.
The woodcock is not an inhabitant of this State. The rail is rarely seen; but the jacksnipe is very plentiful in the late fall and up to mid-winter, when the great majority of them depart for warmer marshes. They do not breed here. This bird, in its quick and upward bound and its swift zigzag flights, is a recognized test of the sportsman's skill. Snipes are often bagged here, but not in the romantic way. Snipe on hot toast is a breakfast dish fit for a king.
I had a sporting friend--a doctor--with whom I often went snipe-shooting. This doctor was the best snipe-shot I have ever known. His bag was always packed, while mine was comparatively lean. On one of these occasions our trip was to a tide-marsh and island south of Seattle. Early in the hunt we crossed a slough when the tide was out and found the birds very numerous on the new hunting-ground. The doctor brought them down right and left, while I was slowly increasing the fatness of my pouch. The doctor's success and consequent enthusiasm made him oblivious of the flight of time and of the movement of the tide. He had patients to visit, and when the sun was disappearing behind the western clouds and hills, he suddenly remembered his obligations to them. When on our return we came to the slough, we found it full and overflowing; the water was fully eight feet in depth and twenty feet or more in width. There was a good deal of floating debris in the slough, and the doctor, being a very agile man, leaped from log to log and safely made the passage to the other shore. He said to me, "Come on, Judge; you can easily make it." I told him that I had never prided myself on my agility. "Well," he said, "I will make a bridge for you;" and with the use of a pole he gathered the floating logs together, so that in appearance they looked like a safe bridge. But I said to him, "Doctor, I have all the confidence in the world in you as a physician; but you will excuse me,--I have no confidence whatever in you as a bridge-builder." He said with a little impatience, "O, quit your nonsense and come over; I will show you that the bridge is perfectly safe;" so saying, he leaped upon it and disappeared in the water. He soon re-appeared, however; and as he crawled up the slimy bank, the water spouting out of him in every direction, I said: "Doctor, you look very undignified." He answered, "You go to ----," politely called Hades. I went down the slough, thinking he might be slightly out of temper, and found a safe crossing. I rowed him home--issuing an occasional mandate that he should take a certain medicine, of which I carried in my breast-pocket, a bottle for such occasions. The good doctor has gone to his long home. He sleeps in the bosom of his fathers and his God.
Of the duck family the following species are abundant here: the teal, the mallard, widgeon, pintail, canvasback, spoonbill, sawbill and woodduck. The three last-named species breed in this country, but migrate early in the fall. Formerly the mallard and teal bred here in large numbers on the tide flats and on the marshes along the creeks and rivers; but the advancement of the settler and the trapper, and the hunter with his repeating rifle, has driven them from their accustomed love-haunts, to the more secluded fens and marshes of the farther north. Birds as well as humans are sensitive to disturbance in their love-affairs. The canvasback is a late and temporary visitant of our lakes, marshes, and tide flats, on his journey to the south. He remains for a time on that journey, and for a far shorter time on his return north. The impulse of love impels him to the secluded fens and marshes of the northland. The other species visit us in early winter, and are mostly gone by mid-winter. Their stay is very brief on their return in the spring.
In 1869, and prior to that date, brants and wild geese--or honkers--were very plentiful in the Puget Sound basin. The tide flats were their favorite feeding-ground. They have been compelled by the advance of the settlements to abandon them, and in lieu thereof, they have chosen the wheat-fields in Eastern Washington. There has been no seeming diminution in number of either brant or geese--simply a change in their feeding grounds.
The lonely cry of the loon, presaging storm or tempest, is heard from the forest-environed lakes and waters of the Sound.
The swan occasionally drops into our secluded lakes, and there alone, or with his mate, remains, if the environments suit him and food is plenty.
The pigeon is not numerous in Western nor, as I am informed, in Eastern Washington. He is slightly larger and wilder than his congere of the States. He is also of a deeper blue than his Eastern kinsman. He is only semi-gregarious. I have never seen him in large flocks or in great numbers together. He is not hunted much and is not valued as a choice game-bird.
The prairie-hen, or chicken, is not a native of and does not exist in Western Washington. This excellent game-bird is very numerous, or was in years agone, along the rivers and creeks in the valleys and on the rolling uplands of the great Columbia River basin. The incoming of the white man, with his trained dogs and with his breech-loading and repeating shotgun, has greatly diminished its numbers. Its unacquaintance with the white man and his terrible instruments of destruction made the bird an easy prey to the hunter. It was familiar to the Indian, and presumably gauging fairly his destructive power, constantly increased in number. The felon coyote was a far more dangerous enemy, being a robber of its nest and devourer of its young. The bird is slightly smaller and of lighter color than his Eastern congere. These birds are much prized by the epicure for the rich delicacy of their flesh.