Trapped on the Tide: Two Boys Stranded in a Waterfront Shack
While the city went about its business, two boys were left to drift into danger—and nearly starved in silence.
On Saturday afternoon, some boys took a boat and pulled up to a shed which stands on stilts on the waterfront. They climbed into the boat that was tied to the building and commenced reading a dime novel aloud by turns. Directly the tide turned, and the boat drifted off out of reach before the boys missed it. They called for help until they were exhausted, but no help came. They slept, huddled together, keeping as warm as best they could. Sunday came, but they were no better off than before. They hallooed singly and shouted doubly, and then called altogether for help, but passersby thought it was a crowd of boys playing in the building, and paid no attention. Finally, at dusk Monday evening, a man passing in a small boat was hailed and induced to take the boys ashore. They were all hoarse and nearly starved and declared they would never leave the boat tied again.
“They hallooed singly and shouted doubly, and then called altogether for help, but passersby thought it was a crowd of boys playing in the building, and paid no attention.”
This 1887 incident speaks to the isolation of the Seattle waterfront long before it was paved over or heavily industrialized. Even today, the siren song of the docks and the hidden corners of the Elliott Bay shoreline can turn a moment of adolescent adventure into a dangerous situation, echoing the city’s complex, ever-changing relationship with its tidal boundaries.
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