A Letter From the Fire: Being an Account of the Great Chicago Fire.

by Thomas Dove Foster

It was blowing hard at the time, but I got along well, having fit myself out for cold and dirt; having little interest in the city, no friends whose losing property could affect me much, and little property of my own to care for, I felt probably as free and easy as any one who saw that fire.

I got up to it at ten-forty-five, but could not get near on account of the heat. How the firemen stood it I don’t know! A general alarm was sounded and thirty steam fire engines were on the spot soon after I arrived. It was a grand sight but hellish in the extreme; streets, houses, trees, and everything in one grand furnace. It was not a blaze like the night before, but a white melting heat; volumes of flames were cut off from the seat of the fire itself and carried over into other streets. In addition to this there was a perfect shower of sparks, all red and glowing. The fall of them was like a fall of golden snow, and as far as the eye could reach upward, the air was filled with them; not only sparks, but burning brands of wood from six inches to two feet long, and from one inch thick to six inches. This may seem incredible but it is true. I saw them myself, saw them fall in the street, and worse than that, on houses with wooden roofs, and on people’s heads, almost knocking them down. The wind was blowing a fearful gale at this time and that accounts for it.

At eleven-fifteen these brands set fire to the roof of a church about three hundred yards from the main fire. I went to see this before there was the sign of a blaze; (I adopted the plan of keeping before the fire, so that in case it spread I should not be cut off from my hotel) some men got on the roof and tried to put it out but they could not. So an engine came, and dilly-dallied about for a few minutes, until a volume of thick black smoke rolled up from it and in two minutes it was in flames. The edifice was wood and it went like a matchbox; it was a Roman Catholic institution. Some one said it was on fire before any sign of a blaze came from it; an old Irish woman that had just come heard the remark and asked: “Where is the foire?” They told her on the roof. “Ah,” said she, “God will put it out,” and appeared quite composed about it. This is where the real trouble commenced.

There were two immense fires now, and the fire brigade divided. This left the first fire almost to itself, and in a few minutes it joined the second one; the sight was now dreadful. It swept along, burning wood, bricks, stone, alike; I never saw the equal. The two latter materials gave out sooner than the wood; they melted down like wax, while wood burned so long as a stick remained. It flew from house to house almost as quick as one could walk, until it reached the river.

I will stop about the fire now and tell you something of the inhabitants, a great many being burnt out, the fire having come a mile now, and half a mile wide. The people were mostly looking at the fire, but as soon as they saw their homes in danger, a general packing up could be observed in all the houses, and soon after a regular exodus, everyone, old and young, carrying something. The men looked pale and callous as a rule; the women ran about in an excited manner, but none fainted. Children clung to parents, or old friends, too frightened to cry; infants alone made noise, as the mothers had not time to sit down and soothe them. Others of them slept peaceably in the mothers’ arms, ignorant of all danger and care. Old women were carrying weights too heavy for men, and young women were dragging trunks (enough for a donkey to pull), no doubt containing their best clothes, or sat on them and wept quietly when they could not pull any longer, and had to leave them for the fire to lick up as a giant would swallow a midge.

I was not an idle observer during all this. I carried boxes and bundles without number, placing them in nooks that the owners considered safe. Vain delusion. Everything I laid hands to save was eventually burnt. In one place there was a long train of empty railway cars. People thought the railway company would be sure to save their cars, so they would put in their goods. I worked as I never worked before, loading up the cars with all kinds of things, but before I had finished the train was on fire and it burnt up as would a train of gunpowder on the flags. This was my last act of kindness on the West side; it being close to the river, I crossed over to what is called the South side.

To return to the fire account. After crossing the river, I stood and gazed on the burning mass. It was thought it could not cross eighty yards of water. The firemen made a hard fight here to prevent its going any further, and it looked somewhat as if they might succeed. At this point I left, a fire having broken out behind me about four hundred yards away. This was on the side of the river I was on, so there was no doubt but that the fire had crossed. Of course this took away a lot of engines and left the old fire to do as it liked; it soon jumped the river too, and joined the new one. I went to see this new fire and found it to be among a nest of wooden shanties that went like tinder. Upon close observation I saw that it was within a few yards of the gas works, so thought it better to quit and plant myself at a reasonable distance from it. In going away I took the liberty of hammering people up, as the fire was spreading so rapidly it might reach them before all of them could get out. The streets were all quiet as I passed along, but soon were busy enough with people turning out. I was also busy enough assisting to put out little fires, such as linen awnings that sparks had ignited, and pieces of wooden side walks that were burning, until I got to the heart, and best part of the city where all buildings were built of brick, stone, iron, or marble, and many of them without any wood except the office desks and furniture. I felt sure the fire would never go through these buildings; still to make my mind easy, I went to the Brigg’s House, and commenced packing. This was one o’clock, wind still blowing a gale, the fire within a quarter of a mile from the hotel, and just beginning to cross the street to the good part of the city. Although I was packing, I really did not believe the fire would reach the place where I was.

I will give you an idea of how my packing arrangements were made. I first got my small valise with the brass round the edges, put into it my best suit, album, and all the little presents that I value, then filled up with the best of my underclothing; after that I took off the old suit I had on, and put on my second best suit, so that if it came to the worst I could carry the valise in my hand, and have a good suit on my back. At this juncture, a waiter of the hotel came running up, saying the wind had changed and there was no danger. I paid little attention to it and went on packing my large trunk; certainly it made me more careless in packing, for I left out a lot of small things, I could have put in, thinking if the place should be threatened I could then put them in. After I fastened all up, leaving out my large overcoat, I again walked out to see the progress of the fire. It had taken full possession of the fine buildings I before mentioned. It was surprising to see the way they tumbled; marble buildings cracked away for a time, then burst out in a volume of flame; the walls parted, and down came the whole fabrication a jumbled mass of smouldering ruins. This took but little time, but short as it was, before it was in ruins, other buildings were burning and tumbling in the same way. I was watching in one place, when a cry was raised that the City Hall was on fire. I never thought that this would burn, as it stands in a little park, and is built of stone. I ran round and there sure enough the cupola was burning, and very soon after, the edifice was a red, seething mass, sending up clouds of sparks, and dealing destruction, with a deadly hand, all ’round.

I now thought it about time to move, and see after my things, so commenced lugging them downstairs; I had not time now to put anything into the trunk, so let the few things left take their chance. I had with me one valise, one large portmanteau of my own, and one large trunk belonging to Mr. Ackroyd (had he left it at Sherman’s House it was gone sure as I could never have saved it). When I had them down, I went to look for a carriage or an express man, to take them away; they were asking fifty dollars for a carriage; as this would not do I went up the street a piece, met a man with a light waggon, asked what he would take me a mile away for. He said five dollars down. “Done,” I said. He wanted to get the money in the street before he got the things; of course I would not do that, but told him, I would pay him the minute I got the things on board. After a good deal of talk he consented, came alongside, put the packages on and I paid him. Just as I was leaving the place took fire, and I heard people offering one hundred dollars, then one hundred and fifty dollars, for a carriage, but they could not get any. As I was going along several people applied to the express-man offering him three or four dollars for the conveyance of a trunk, but ten dollars was now his charge. People refused to pay him that amount and I am sure they all lost their things, as we were about the last to cross the bridge. We took up one young man with a similar lot of traps to mine. He was a very decent fellow, so we stuck together. The express-man put us down at his own house. We left our things inside, and went to see how the fire was getting along.