A Sudden Squall Rocks the Seattle Waterfront
A fierce windstorm capsizes a sailboat, sinks a boathouse, and tests the nerves of local sailors.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
A sudden and severe squall at 7 o'clock last evening caused considerable havoc along the water front. A small sloop was upset and its three occupants rescued after a thorough wetting. Towle & Peters' boathouse was sunk and several boats and scows got loose, causing a good deal of scurrying about in small boats to gather up the pieces. The small sloop Osco, which had been in the harbor for several days, was about 400 yards off Virginia street when the high wind struck her. Three men named Watson, Wilson, and Boyd, of Fairhaven, were on the boat at the time. When the squall struck, the men lowered the gaff and let go the sheet so the boom caught the water and 'tripped' the craft, which went over on her side, but having no ballast, did not sink. Several naval vessels, including the Yorktown, Mohican, and Hassler, took steps to assist, and a rowboat managed to rescue the three men. At the same time, the schooner Surcone was struggling opposite Hohwabacher's dock. While her husband stood forward holding a scrap of the jib, Mrs. Burlong stood in the cockpit with her hair blowing about, managing the tiller with nerves of steel until the craft bumped against the face of the dock. Later that evening, Towle & Peters' boathouse, moored near the foot of Madison street, sank nearly to the eaves as high seas rolled over the deck, destroying roughly twenty small boats stored within.
“Mrs. Burlong stood in the cockpit, with her hair blowing about, and managed the tiller. Although tears were running down her cheeks, she did not lose her nerve.”
The precarious nature of Seattle's early maritime infrastructure—where boathouses were essentially scows moored to piers—is a reminder of a time when the waterfront was less a static bulkhead and more a chaotic, shifting workshop. Squalls that would today be a nuisance were, in 1894, genuine threats to the livelihoods and lives of the working sailors.
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