The Skagit Land Rush: A Morning of Chaos and Cleverness
When the federal land office in Seattle opened to accept claims for the Upper Skagit river, a line of hundreds descended into a power struggle defined by military-style organization, gender politics, and shifting rules.
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.
Scenes similar to those around the land offices in Guthrie and Kingfisher, Oklahoma, were witnessed in and about the United States land office in this city yesterday. As early as 4 o'clock a.m., the would-be filers began to form a line for the purpose of filing on quarter sections in townships 35 and 36-7, on the Upper Skagit river. This crowd kept increasing, and finally the line was broken and what was an orderly body soon became an unorganized mob.
William Nobles, of Mount Vernon, seemed to be captain of those who had come from Skagit county; they obeyed his every order with military promptness. It was claimed that those from Skagit and vicinity were bonded together to crowd everybody else away from the door, but they reckoned without their host. Shortly after 7 o'clock, Chief of Police Butterfield arrived to quell any possible disturbance. He finally induced the crowd to form into two lines, one extending up Columbia street and the other down.
Shortly before 9 o'clock, Miss Agnes Lorensey, a very pretty young woman, walked to the head of the line and sat down in the very front of everybody. There was considerable scolding and dissatisfaction at this, and Chief Butterfield requested her to leave, but she, smiling politely, firmly refused to stir. A storm of uncomplimentary remarks followed her decision, but this did not phase her a bit. The good nature and looks of the woman finally overcame the ill-will of the land-seekers and she was allowed to keep her place. When the door opened, Miss Agnes Lorensey was the first to file.
“It was claimed that those from Skagit and vicinity were bonded together to crowd everybody else away from the door... but they reckoned without their host.”
This 1889 scene of a desperate, competitive scramble for land mirrors the modern-day exhaustion of Seattle’s housing market. While the prize was once a timber claim in the Skagit wilderness, the same anxiety of being first in line—or facing a 'crushing' market—persists in Seattle’s current real estate climate.
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