Peculiarities of American Cities

by Willard W. Glazier

At about nine o'clock in the evening of Sunday, October eighth, 1871, a cow kicked over a lantern among loose, dry hay, in a stable at or near the corner of Jefferson and DeKoven streets, on the west side. There had been no rain of any consequence for fourteen weeks, and roofs and wooden buildings were as dry as tinder. There was a strong wind blowing from the southwest, and before the engines could reach the spot, half a dozen adjoining buildings were wrapped in flames. The buildings of that quarter were mostly of wood, and there were several lumber yards along the margin of the river. The flames swept through these with resistless fury, and then made a bold and sudden leap across the river into the very heart of the business portion of the south side. Many of the buildings here also were of wood, while the wooden sidewalks, and wooden block pavements, the latter filled with an inflammable composition, seemed constructed especially to aid and hasten the work of the flames. The fire marched steadily toward the north and east, destroying everything in its course. Even fireproof buildings seemed to melt down as it touched them.

The wind increased to a gale, and all night long the fire wrought its terrible will, like a devouring demon; and at sunrise it had already leaped the narrow barrier of the river, and was devastating the northern side, sweeping away block after block of the wooden structures which occupied to a large extent that quarter of the city. The flames seized upon the shipping in the river, and when it left it only blackened hulls remained. The water supply, upon which the city had founded hopes in case of such extremity, failed. The walls of the buildings, weakened by the overpowering heat, had fallen in upon the engines, and hope was quenched in that quarter.

The flames spread southward as far as Taylor street, and to the northward they only paused when, at Fullerton avenue, the broad prairie lay before them, and there was nothing more to burn. The track of the fire was nearly five miles in length, running north and south, and averaged a mile in width. It continued from nine o'clock on Sunday night until daybreak Tuesday morning, and then nothing was left of all the business portion of Chicago, save a vast blackened field on which the flames still smouldered, with piles of rubbish, formed by fallen buildings, and here and there portions of walls still standing. Every bank, insurance office, hotel, theatre, railroad depot, law office, newspaper office, most of the churches, all but one of the wholesale stores, and many of the warehouses and retail stores, six elevators, fifty vessels, and sixteen thousand dwellings, including many elegant mansions, besides numberless humble homes, were destroyed; two hundred persons killed, and a hundred thousand people suddenly found themselves homeless and penniless, without food to eat or clothes to wear.

The scenes accompanying the fire were terrible and heart-rending. They were a mingling of the horrible and grotesque, the tragic and the ridiculous, such as was probably never witnessed before on so grand a scale, and we trust will never be repeated; and over it all the smoke hung like a pall, stifling and blinding, and the flames cast a baleful glare, which lit up the scene and made it seem like a literal inferno.

The fire spread with a rapidity which baffled all attempts to check it. Many made a feeble effort to save their household goods, an effort which was too often futile, while others barely escaped with their lives, clad only in their scant night garments. The streets were filled with a frantic multitude; vehicles of every description, laden with movable property; men, women and children, some of them burdened with their belongings, and others nearly naked, forgetful of all but the terrible danger of the hour, all wild with the insanity born of fear, and all fleeing from the pursuing demon which pressed on behind them, and whose hot breath scorched their garments and singed their hair. Many took refuge in the river or the lake; but the hissing flames stooped down and licked the water, and the poor victims were made to feel the tortures of a double death. Very few of these escaped with their lives.

The progress of the flames was so swift that many were overwhelmed by the crumbling walls of their houses or workshops before they had time to escape, and found in them a fiery tomb. Others were suffocated by the smoke. Children were separated from parents, and young and old sought safety wherever they could find it, and a mad panic reigned everywhere. Many saloons were thrown open, and whisky flowed freely, and the turbulent riot of drunkenness was added, to increase the confusion and despair of the dreadful night. Sneak thieves and larger depredators found spoil on every hand. In this terrible calamity each one seemed to throw off his mask, and become what he really was—the brave man, the noble gentleman, the selfish coward, the bully or the thief.

A single leaf of a quarto Bible, charred around its edges, was all that was left of the immense stock of the Western News Company. It contained the first chapter of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, which begins with the following words: "How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people! how is she become as a widow! she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is she become tributary! She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her."

The amount lost by the insurance companies, American and foreign, by the Chicago fire, was $88,634,133. More than 2,200 acres were swept by the flames in the space of thirty hours. The value of buildings alone consumed was estimated at $75,000,000, while their contents were at least as much more. The total loss probably was not much less than $200,000,000.

No sooner had the news of the dreadful calamity gone abroad to the world, than the spirit of generosity prompted efficient aid from all quarters. St. Louis, Milwaukee, Cincinnati, Cleveland, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Montreal, cities and towns in the north, south, east and west, sent generous, and some of them princely, donations. Even China forwarded $1,290. By December first the public cash donations had reached $2,508,000. The naked were clothed, the hungry fed, the homeless housed in at least temporary quarters, and Chicago set herself to the task of reconstruction.