A LETTER FROM THE FIRE
All Hallowe’en,
October 31, 1871,
Chicago, Ill.
My dear Father and Mother:
I am ashamed to put you off any longer without a long letter. I have been waiting to get the office comfortable so that I could spend some evening in it, when it would be nice and warm, and give you a longer account of the fire. We are into the middle of another week, no desks, and no fire, so muffle myself up, and collect my thoughts the best way I can. For a beginning, we should have been very busy today, with salt, but it is raining very hard, and is altogether a miserable day both out and inside, so cannot find anything better to do, although it is not pleasant work.
To begin—on Saturday morning the 7th of this month, I saw Mr. Ackroyd off to Milwaukee, and came back with Mr. Kenny.
The three of us were stopping at different hotels, therefore Mr. Kenny went to his, I to the Brigg’s house, and got my tea, then went to the Sherman house where Mr. Ackroyd had been stopping, to get his trunk and have it sent to my room at the Brigg’s house. After that was done I took my usual Saturday evening stroll, ’round the city, just ready to look at anything interesting. Nothing happened; but just as I was going into the hotel, at ten o’clock, there was the glare of a fire in the sky. I did not feel like going to bed, so thought I might spend an hour looking at the flames. It was a big fire in my eyes then, a large wooden house near a row of splendid brick ones; the latter they were trying to save, and succeeded. I was in a splendid position for seeing, without getting any of the water the firemen directed at the crowd every few minutes. It was nearly over, and I was just going to leave, when some one shouted that there was a fire on the west side. I looked up, saw the sky all lurid, and started off to see the new one. It looked very awful, sweeping houses before it like chaff, until it got to a lumber yard. Then the efforts of the firemen appeared useless, twenty acres of buildings and wood were all ablaze; the sight thrilled me through, as I thought there would be no stopping it. I assisted people to carry things out of their houses, and did what I could to help them, until the fire appeared to be so far under way that there was no further danger. I hung ’round until two o’clock then went home, got into bed, satisfied I had seen a tremendous calamity. The biggest of any I had ever seen, or hoped to see. But alas, how much was I disappointed! I could not sleep for a long time, and then only dozed off for a few minutes, but woke with a start, and looking out of the window, saw how the fire was progressing. Whilst awake I was thinking what a splendid account I could write you. When anything of interest occurs it is my first thought—how nice that will do for my letter home. I always have you uppermost in my mind and wish you were with me to enjoy things when I am enjoying myself—but this is parting from my story.
When I saw the fire fade, I fell asleep (it was about four-thirty) and did not wake until Mr. Kenny came to my door at ten. I had made an appointment to meet him at that hour, and kept it as you see—“in bed.” After he left I slept until twelve, then got up, dressed, went down, met Mr. Kenny again, and we both started off to Mr. Small’s to dine. At five-twenty we left there and walked together to my hotel; we parted, and I did not see him again until twenty-six hours after, he thinking me burnt, and I thinking that he was burnt. We were very pleased to see each other again safe and sound.
I got my tea, went to my room, and read awhile, then went to Church; it happened to be a Universalist place that I got into, and did not enjoy it much. I went away kind of dissatisfied and got to the Briggs House at nine-fifteen, not feeling like sleeping. I made myself as comfortable as I could, lit my pipe, and commenced reading the book Mrs. Somerville made me a present of. I had been reading about half an hour when the fire bell tolled three-forty-two three times. I looked out and saw the sky red in the direction of the fire of the previous evening, but paying no attention to it, I turned round and read away. I looked again and saw it was increasing; I tried to read now but it was impossible. I put down the gas, and sat opposite the window watching it; the fire was more than two miles away, still I felt very uneasy, and could not go to bed. It was Sunday night and I did not like the idea of going on a rollicking expedition after a fire, but I could not make myself easy anywhere, and I concluded to go see it; so I took off my Sunday clothes, put on a pair of drawers (I felt chilly the night before, so took the precaution to make myself warm this night, and it was well for me I did as my story will show during its progression), an extra undershirt, an old warm coat and vest, and sallied out at ten-fifteen P.M. October eighth.