pier on which it stood, for several hours. The shipping in the
river above was burning; the immense grain elevators of the Illi-
nois Central and North- Western railroads were a mass of flames ;
and the pier itself, some distance up the river, was slowly burning
toward the light-house. A large propeller, fastened to the dock a
short distance up the river, took fire and burned. The danger was
that, as soon as the hawsers by which it was moored should be
burned off, it would float down stream, and set fire to the dock in
the immediate vicinity of the light-house. Several propellers
moved down near the mouth of the river, and took on board several
hundred fugitives, and steamed out into the lake. If the burning
propeller should come down, it would set fire to the pier, the light-
house, and vast piles of lumber. A fire company was organized of
those on the pier, and with water, dipped in pails from the river,
the fire was kept at bay. But all felt relieved when the propeller
went to the bottom. The party was still prisoners on an angle of
sand, the lire running along the north shore of the river. The
river and the fire prevented an escape to the south. West and
north the flames were still raging with unabated fury. The party
waited for hours, hoping the fire would subside. The day wore on —
noon passed — one, two o'clock ; and still it seemed impossible to
escape to land. Mr. Arnold, scouting to the northward, found his
gardener where he had left him, sitting upon the horse far out in the
lake, and holding on faithfully to the pony by its haller and to the
cow by her horns. The escape to the north was pronounced im-
practicable for the ladies. And all the while they were in great
danger and great anxiety concerning the fate of the missing mother
and child.
THE BURNING OF CHICAGO.
749
Between three and four o'clock p. m., the tug "Clifford"
steamed down the river, having escaped from the burning district,
and tied up to the dock near the light-house. Could she return,
taking the party up the river, through and beyond the fire, to the
West Side? The captain thought she could. The bridges at Rush
State, Clark, and Wells streets had all burned, and their fragments
had fallen into the river. The great warehouses, stores, elevators,
and docks along the river were still burning, but the fury of the
fire had exhausted itself. The party determined to go through this
narrow channel — to run the gauntlet of the fire to a point outside
of the burned district. This was the most dangerous experience of
the day. The tug might take fire her-
self — her woodwork had been blistered
by the heat as she came down. The
engine might become unmanageable
after she got inside the line of fire; or
she might get entangled in the float-
ing timbers and debris of the fallen
bridges. However, the party deter-
mined to make the attempt. A full
head of steam was gotten up ; the
hose was attached to the pumps, so
that if the boat or the clothes of its
passengers took fire they could be
readily put out ; the ladies and chil-
dren were placed in the pilot house
the windows shut, and the boat started
— the men crouching close to the deck,
in the shelter of the bulwarks. At
the State-street bridge, the pilot had
to pick his way very carefully through
a mass of debris, and the situation be-
gan to look exceedingly hazardous.
But it was too late to turn back ; and
so the voyagers pushed on, shooting
as rapidly as possible past the hottest
places, and slowing where the danger
was from below. As they were pass-
ing State - street bridge, the pumps
gave out, and they now ran great risk
from fire. Arthur's hat blew away,
and his father covered his face and
head with a handkerchief, which he
had dipped in the water. Finally they
passed the Wells-street bridge, and
were still unscathed. " Is not the
worse over?" asked Mr. Arnold of
the captain. " We are through, sir,"
was the answer. " We are safe, thank
God ! " came from hearts and lips, as
the boat emerged from the smoke into the clear, cool air outside
the fire lines.
Search for the missing ones was immediately commenced.
Mr. Arnold spent over twenty-four hours in driving and wandering
in pursuit of his wife ; now passing among the throng of refugees
at Lintoln Park, and peering into every grimy countenance ; now
getting a clue, whether true or false, and dashing off by a train into
a suburb ; now baffled entirely and compelled to commence the
search entirely anew. Some time during the following afternoon
his efforts were rewarded by learning that his wife and child were
at the house of Judge Drummond, of the United States Circuit
Court, at a suburb called Winfield ; and there, during the evening
of Tuesday, the family were re-united and joined in thanks to God
for their mutual deliverance.
The ensuing narrative gives the experience of a
member of another class of society than that in which
Mr. Arnold mingled. But it is not the less interesting
and touching ; on the contrary, the loss by a day-laborer
of the accumulations by dint of economy is more irrep-
arable than the loss of one whose intellectual power
enables him readily to replace any financial deprivation.
Narrative of Patrick Webb. — In i86q, I built a frame
house, No. 294 Church Street, North Side. I was then employed
by the North-Western Railroad Company, near Chicago-avenue
bridge, as a day-laborer. Monday morning, about two o'clock, I
heard the fire-bells, but concluded there was no danger of the fire
spreading north, and went to bed again. I rose at the usual
hour, and went to my work. My son was employed by Holmes,
Pyott & Co. About ten o'clock a.m., Monday, the foreman told
me the wind had changed to the south, and that the North Side
was in danger. He told me to go home. I did so ; and found the
fire had crossed the river, but was still a mile away from where I
lived. I and my son helped a family, a relative of ours, on Wells
Street, to remove their property. The fire at this time was raging
along Wells Street and east to the lake, but had spread no farther
west, t lunch Street, where I lived, was crowded with wagon
with all kinds of household property. The fire had then passed
east of my house one block, so we thought we were safe. Soon
afterward word was passed that Chicago-avenue bridge, and the
distillery near it, were on lire. The wind, blowing :i gale from the
south, soon spread the fire about six blocks east to tin Other fire,
and west to Orchard Street. All the loaded wagons that crowded
Church Street hastened north to the prairie; ami I sent my son to
try and get a wagon at any cost — but it was too late, there was none
to be had for love or money. I saw some poor men digging pits
CLARK STREET BRIDGE, LOOKINI
in the ground, and putting their little household property in them.
so I thought I would do the same; and three of us went to
work as hard as we could, and dug a pit about three feet deep
by three wide, till the water stopped us. While the women
were filling the first pit, we were digging another, and so on
till every article of furniture, bedding, clothing and utensils were
in the ground and covered; but, unfortunately, they were not half
covered, for we had not time, as the sparks and burning brands
were then falling around us, blown by the strong wind, ami we
had to escape for our lives. I asked my wife to give me some
clothes, as I had nothing on but my underclothes, overalls and
overshirt. To my surprise, she told me she did not see them, but
supposed they were in the pit, and covered up with other things.
There was no help for it. We then went north about half a mile, to
the prairie, where were no houses to burn — I, my wife, ami four
children (the eldest thirteen years and the youngest thirteen
months), and, like hundreds of miserable creatures, settli d ourselves
in the angle of a fence, without shelter, clothing or provisions.
There we remained that long cold night till about five o'clock next
morning, when a Lutheran church was opened to admit the shiver-
ing crowd, which soon filled it, and right glad to get the
We suffered that night very much from the cold. Soon afterward
we were told they were giving some provisions to those that had
none; so I went and asked some for my family, for we had eaten
nothing since about noon the day before. I got a little bread and
meat. It was now that I felt real bad, for I considered myself a
beggar. I left my family in the church, and hurried off to where
my'house had stood. It was very difficult for me to find the place,
as there was nothing left to mark the spot. When I did find it, I
saw smoke issuing from the pits where all that we possessed m the
world was buried. I found the shovel that I was working with the
previous evening, and examined the pits, but when 1 stirred them,
they blazed up; I had not a drop of water to cast on them. 1 felt
broken down in spirits, seeing all that I had saved during my life
(about $1,500) bv hard labor, honesty and sobriety, swept away in
a few hours, and I at the age of fifty-eight. I returned to the
75°
HISTORY OF CHICAGO
church to tell my wife our great loss, but she and the children, I
was told, had left, and were on the way toWaukegan. Our broth-
er-in-law. Stephen Drew, left Waukegan by the first train in search
of us, and, after much difficulty, found my family in the church,
and took them with him to his house, where they had a home with
his family till I had built a hut on my lot to shelter them for the
winter I was insured in the Firemen's Insurance Co., of Chicago,
- '. I think I received about $30 from them: also, ninety
dollars' worth of lumber and $ 100 cash from the Relief Committee,
besides some coal, provisions and clothing.
Mrs. Mary Faxes 10 hkr Mother. — The fol-
lowing letter was written the second day after the fire,
by Mrs. Mary Fales, wife of David Fales, a lawyer. It
possesses interest, both because of its date and uncon-
ventional tone, which latter differs from a statement
intended for publication :
Chicago, October 10, 1S71.
Diiir Mamma : — You have probably heard of our fire, and
will be glad to know that we are safe, after much tribulation. Sun-
day night, a fire broke out on the West Side, about three miles
southwest of us. The wind was very high, anil David said it was
a bad night for a lire. About two o'clock we were awakened by a
very bright light and a great noise of carts and wagons. Upon
examination, David found that the fire was not at all on the North
Side, but was burning so furiously on the South Side that the
whole sky was bright. They thought it would stop when it came
to the river; but it proved no obstacle, and the North Side was soon
on tire, and Wells and LaSalle streets were crowded with carts and
people going north. We saw that with such a wind it would soon
reach our neighborhood, and David told me to pack what I most
valued. It seemed useless to pack in trunks, as everv vehicle de-
manded an enormous price, and was engaged. Several livery
stables were already burned, and loose horses were plenty. One of
the Wheeler boys had a horse given him for nothing, excepting a
promise to lead it to a safe place. He took it home and tied it in
their yard. Having no wagon, it was of no use to him, so David
took it, and after a while succeeded in finding a no-top buggy.
We felt very lucky, as nobody around could get either horse or
conveyance. David packed it full of things, set me and himself on
top, and started off to the Hutchinsons.
I can not convey to you how the streets looked. Everybody
was out of their houses, without exception, and the sidewalks were
covered with furniture and bundles of every description. The mid-
dle of the street was a jam of carts, carriages, wheelbarrows and
every sort of vehicle — many horses being led along, all excited and
prancing, some running away. I scarcely dared look right or left,
as I kept my seat by holding tightly to the trunk. The horse
would not be restrained, and I had to use all my powers to keep
on. I was glad to go fast, for the fire behind us raged, and the
whole earth, or all we saw of it, was a lurid, yellowish red.
David left me at Aunt Eng's and went for another load of things.
This he soon brought back, and then he went off again, and I saw
him no more for seven hours. People came crowding to Aunt
Eng's, and the house was full of strangers and their luggage. One
young lady, who was to have had a fine wedding to-morrow, came
dragging along some of her wedding presents. One lady came
with four servants, and one with six blankets full of clothing. One
lady came with nurse and baby, and, missing her little boy, went
off to look for him. This was about daylight, and she did not
come back at all. Now and then somebody's husband would come
back for a minute; but there was work for everybody, and they
only stayed long enough to say how far the lire advanced, and as-
sured us of safety. At twelve, David came and said that he had
taken everything out of our house, and buried the piano and books,
together with the china, in Mr. Hubbard's grounds. He saw per-
sons taking off all the chairs, tables and light furniture, without
saying a word, for he knew they would burn, even in the street,
and my nice preserves, which Maggie had set out on the piazza, he
gave freely to anybody who cared to take them.
The Hubbards thought they were safe in a brick house with
so much ground around it; but wet their carpets and hung them
over the wooden facings for additional safety. It was all to no
burn and fall, and then theirs shared
the same fate. The M<;< agg's large house and stables burned in a
few minutes; a No the New England Church and Mr. Collyer's.
In the afternoon the wind blew more furiously, the dust was
blinding, the sky gray and leaden, and the atmosphere dense with
smoke. We watched '.he swarms of wagons and people pass. All
the men, and many of the women, wen- dragging trunks by cords
tied in the handles, and children w<t. carrying and pulling big
•hey said Aunt Kng's house must go too Then
such conl ! Ever) body trying to get a cart, and
not one to be had at any price. After a while, two of the gentle-
men, who bad wagons, carried their wives farther north, and those
that were left watched for empty wagons, but nobody spoke a
word. Mr. Hutchinson, David, and some others, were taking
things out and burying them, and many of the ladies fairly lost
their wits. Poor Aunt Eng even talked of sending home a shawl
that somebody left there long ago. David started for a cart.
Again he was successful, and got an old sand-cart, with no
springs, one board out of the bottom, with a horse that had not
been out of harness for twenty-four hours. He put in all our
things, and one trunk of Aunt Eng's, to which Miss M. added
a band-box. The West Side was safe ; but to get there was the
question. The bridges were blocked and some burned, but the
man who owned the cart thought we could get there. We thought
of Judge Porter's and Mr. Dupee's, where we believed we would
be welcome. Wherever Aunt Eng's family went, they must
walk, and our prospects seemed so fair that we took May with us
Our ride was an anxious one. The horse had been over-used, and,
when urged on, would kick till the old cart bid fair to break in
pieces; then he would go on, and finally, finding kicking no use,
gave it up, much to my relief. Many times we were blocked, and
it seemed as if the fire must reach the bridge before we did. But
we were much too well off to compiain. Some carts had broken
down, horses had given out, and manv people were walking and
pulling big things, and seemed almost exhausted. Furniture and
clothing lay all along the road. Mrs. Hamilton haiied us from a
mean little hut, two miles from her house and ours, and asked us
to take a bag of Mr. Hubbard's silver. It must have been some
servant's house. Anyway, it was burnt soon after, and we still
have the silver. The fences were broken in all the unbuilt fields,
and furniture and people covered every yard of space. After a ride
of two hours and a half, we reached Judge Porter's at dusk, and
found a warm welcome.
Every family I know on the North Side is burned out. I can't
enumerate them. It would be useless. It is sufficient to say, every
individual one. We were the only ones who took our things from
Aunt Eng's. The lady with the six bundles left five behind her;
the lady with the four servants left a bundle of French dresses to
burn, but, worst of all, the baby and nurse They went with the
Hutchinsons. At the last minute, a Miss M. insisted on David tak-
ing charge of her watch; she said she could trust it to no one else,
and it did not occur to her to keep it herself. All of our clothing
is saved, and much we have with us.
I never felt so grateful in my life as to hear the rain pour
down at three o'clock this morning. That stopped the fire.
The gentlemen have come in, and David says the piano
burned under the ground; nothing was left but the iron plates.
The North Side is level, as is the burned part of the South Side, so
that the streets are not distinguishable. They say people in every
class of life are out of doors. The churches are full, and food is
sent to them, but hardly anybody has any to spare. My watch
was at the jeweler's, and may have been in a safe, but the safes
have not yet been uncovered. I shall write soon again ; mean-
while, direct to 44S West Washington Street.
Lovingly and thankfully,
Mary.
Narrative of George M. Higginson. — From a
very minute narrative of scenes and incidents which
came within the observation of George M. Higginson,
and which, in manuscript form, is deposited with the
Chicago Historical Society, the following interesting
facts are gathered :
Mr. Higginson was engaged in real estate business,
with an office in Metropolitan Block, northwest corner
Randolph and LaSalle streets. He resided at No. 230
Dearborn Avenue, about one hundred and fifty feet
north of Chicago Avenue. The house, which he owned,
faced the east. His family consisted of his wife and
two sons, Dudley and Alexander. Mr. Higginson no-
ticed the glare of the fire about half-past ten o'clock,
and became impressed with a sense of impending dan-
ger, but endeavored to shake off the apparently unrea-
sonable feeling, and go to sleep. He says :
When I first saw the fire from the roof of my house, the wind
was blowing quite freshly from the southwest. After I lay down,
it seemed to increase somewhat in power. I began to hear the
rattling and rumbling of carts and heavy wagons, indicating that
the population was becoming aware of the fact that a great con-
flagration was under way.
At about half-past one o'clock, I was awakened by a slight
noise in my room. I noticed my wife looking out of the window.
She called my attention to the rapid spread of the lire and the sound
of falling walls. To put on my coat and boots was the work of an
SECTIONAL MAP OF CITY SHOWING BURNED DISTRICT
75i
75 2
HISTORY OF CHICAGO.
instant. As I opened the front door, I saw the cinders falling like
flakes of snow in a storm, though the bulk of them fell to the east-
ward of my house and toward the lake. As I looked to the south,
the sky over the city was a bright red, glowing like a furnace, and
studded with innumerable sparks, ignited cinders and blazing em-
bers, shining like myriads of red stars; but I could see no flames
nor even smoke. Indeed, the absence of smoke from any point of
view I had of the fire was a notable characteristic, which I attrib-
uted to the intensity of the heat. I continued my course, running
down Dearborn Street to Kinzie, and kept on the south side of
Kinzie Street, intending to go as far as LaSalle, and there pass
through the tunnel. To the best of my recollection, I saw very
few people or teams on the route. It seemed as if I were alone in
the city, that the last day had come, and the final conflagration of
all things created was at hand. I pressed forward, and in a mo-
ment an appalling spectacle burst upon my sight, — scores of beau-
tiful structures enveloped in flames, which extended nearly across
the street. As clearly as I could judge from my point of view, near
the north end of the tunnel, the fire had reached as far north as
Washington Street on LaSalle, opposite the Chamber of Com-
merce. This part of LaSalle Street was occupied by fine stone
buildings, which had only four or five years ago re-placed the old
wooden structures first erected on the ground some twenty-five
years before.
Heretofore I had been surprised at the absence of people in
the streets, but at the outlet of the tunnel, on the north, a stream
of fugitives issued in solid mass. As I edged my way in, I noticed
bv the gas lights which were still burning along the top of the arch,
that the road and foot-passageway were crowded with refugees, all
going in one direction, toward the north — indeed, I do not remem-
ber to have seen any one going in the same direction as myself.
What a sight! Here were persons of all conditions, of every phase
of appearance. Men
and women were car-
rying trunks and bun-
dles, articles of furni-
ture and ornament;
others held children in
their arms and, in some
cases, s i ck persons.
Some few invalids,
wearied with their ef-
forts, were seated on
trunks or bundles, en-
deavoring by a few
minutes' rest to gain
strength for a new
start. It struck one
with a feeling of awe,
that, in all this rush
of the crowd and the
sound of heavy boots tramping upon the planks, I did not hear
one solitary sound of the human voice. Every person seemed bent
on escape, and all were apparently stupefied into silence by the
magnitude of the disaster.
As I drew near the southern entrance, I saw quite a num-
ber of the police, who led prisoners in handcuffs. What was the
meaning of all this? Had the city been devoted to pillage, and
were a set of outlaws and incendiaries at work to rob and destroy ?
The whole scene appeared like a hideous nightmare. My feelings,
which had been worked up to the highest pitch by anxiety, exer-
tion, and the sight of these wretches, almost overcame me. It
seemed as if destruction were impending, not only over the city, but
everywhere. When within fifty feet from the end, my emotions
were so intense that I felt my throat grow dry with a choking sen-
sation, so that I could hardly draw a breath: a feeling of faintness
and dizziness so oppressed me that I came near falling, and, for a
moment, I lost all power of emotion. By an effort of will I recov-
ered from the paralysis which, for a moment, had taken possession
of mind and body, and again pressed forward. Owing to the
throng of fugitives going in the opposite direction, I made slow
work of it; but, on emerging from the south opening, I ran with
wards Metropolitan Block, where my office was located.
Mr. Higginson then went to his office, and found
that the papers had been taken out by Erastus Foote,
and were on the way to the house of Albeit J. Averell,
No. 600 Wabash Avenue, with whom Mr. Higginson
was, at that time, in partnership.
On emerging from the stairway, I noticed that the fire had
reached Randolph Street, just opposite the Metropolitan Block ; I
also noticed that the Clipo Ol thi I lotlrt House was on fire. I was
again struck by the fact that there was hardly a person visible on
the streets — no fin: engines or firemen, and not the slightest
attempt to check the fire ; which would indeed have been useless,
as the whole district to the southwest was a sea of flames. It
really seemed as if the city had been entirely abandoned by its in-
habitants, to burn in silence — that I was the only spectator of the
scene. Filled with apprehensions as to what might be the result
of the wholesale destruction, I hastened home by nearly the same
route by which I came. * * We proceeded to gather such
articles as were deemed most necessary, and to tie them into
bundles. It was not long after this — I should judge about four
o'clock in the morning — that I noticed a bright light at the Water
Works, and I was soon convinced they were on fire. With the
destruction of this building, and the engines, all hope of
extinguishing the fire, seemed to be at an end. Shortly after, I
tried the water-cocks in the house, and could get no water. Going
K.UINS OF E. B. MCCAGG'S RESIDENCE ;
WITH UNBURNED CONSERVATORY.
out on the front steps, I met Captain John Prindiville, who lived in
the third house north of me. He had his horse and buggy with
him, and told me that they were at my service for a while. I accord-