7. The scene that ensues has no parallel in the history of the world. Who shall arouse those sleepers and warn them of their peril? Who, now, when the flames are already at the doors, shall bear away the sick ones, the aged, the little children, the babes, to safety? Alas! whither shall they be borne? The lake on one side; on the other, a narrow pathway leading toward the country to the north, along which the flames are rushing with mad rapidity. Every other way of escape is cut off.

8. Many plunge breast-deep into the lake, and there during long hours stand many hundreds of people, feeble women, some with babes in their arms, many sick and aged, till the fire subsides and rescue comes. Nearly one hundred thousand souls are fleeing before the merciless flames. During that fearful Monday this great throng continue their flight without food, without water, scorched by the hot blast, their clothes and often their hair on fire; the stronger bearing the weaker in their arms and on their shoulders, they rush on, every moment pursued by the flames. Many sink to the ground to rise no more, how many never will be known.

9. Finally they are in the open country. It is a strange, weird place to pass a night in, a graveyard, but it is a place of safety from the foe that all day had pursued them. And there, about ten o'clock at night, as they see the last house on the other side of the city limits crumble to ashes, they sink down to their dismal bivouac, many pillowing their heads upon the graves among which they lay.

10. Many were the "heroic deeds" that had been wrought on that fearful day, heroic deeds of husbands and wives in rescuing each other and their children, of children in rescuing parents and brothers and sisters, of many in helping the helpless when sore pressed themselves, and of all in maintaining the brave, heroic fight against such fearful odds.

11. And now opens another chapter of the "story of heroic deeds" in the history of the Chicago fire. It is the story of the heroism of sympathy, of charity, of generosity, of dauntless energy. How shall these thousands of homeless ones, with winter impending, be sheltered? How food gotten to the famished crowd in the graveyard, who have not tasted food since Sunday night?

12. The city stricken is still quick to act. During Monday, while the conflagration is still raging, relief committees are organizing; the houses of those who are left with houses are being opened to those who have none; the sound of axe and hammer is heard on every side, erecting barracks and temporary cabins; men and women are gathering stores of food and clothing; and loaded wagons are making their way around the burning city to reach the encampment in the cemetery and on the open prairie. The telegraph has also been set to telling to other cities the story of the great calamity. Before and during the night trains of cars come from the whole country for many miles around, loaded with food, clothing, blankets, and even delicacies for the sick. And so on to Tuesday morning the half-famished, homeless multitude once more welcome their morning meal, and before night the whole vast multitude on the streets have obtained some kind of shelter.

13. And now the return click is heard at the telegraph-offices. Cities too distant to send food send words of cheer and money. As the day wears on, the wires can scarcely carry all the messages of sympathy which come pouring in. London, Paris, Berlin, all the great cities of Europe, vie with each other in liberality, and send their substantial offerings through the cable under the sea, and, before the sun sets, messages of organized aid come from distant Calcutta and Melbourne. The thrill of human sympathy had encircled the earth. Nor did the supplies fail until the people of the grateful city cried, "Enough!"

14. In the old Arabian story, the palace of Aladdin is built in a single night by the aid of magic. But now the wonder wrought by the genii is surpassed. From the ashes of that terrible night a new city grows up, marvelous in its freshness, its strength, and its beauty. No need of magic here, or rather the only magic needed is that of self-reliance and the sympathy of the world so bountifully expressed.

15. With a full heart the poet Whittier describes the scene, and the lesson to be derived from it:

Men said at vespers, "All is well!"