Chicago Evening Post 17 October 1871

The brute creation was crazed. The horses, maddened by heat and noise, and irritated by falling sparks, neighed and screamed with affright and anger, and reared and kicked, and bit each other, or stood with drooping tails and rigid legs, ears laid back and eyes wild with amazement, shivering as if with cold. The dogs ran wildly hither and thither, snuffing eagerly at every one, and occasionally sitting down on their haunches to howl dismally. When there was a lull in the fire, far-away dogs could be heard baying and cocks crowing at the unwonted light. Cats ran along ridge-poles in the bright glare, and came pattering into the street with dropsical tails. Great brown rats with beadlike eyes were ferreted out from under the sidewalks by the flames, and scurried along the streets, kicked at, trampled upon, hunted down. Flocks of beautiful pigeons, so plentiful in the city, wheeled up aimlessly, circled blindly once or twice, and were drawn into the maw of the fiery hell raging underneath. At one bird-fancier's store on Madison Street, near LaSalle, the wails of the scorched birds as the fire caught them were piteous as those of children. The firemen labored like heroes. Grimy, dusty, hoarse, soaked with water, time after time they charged up to the blazing foe only to be driven back to another position by its increasing fierceness, or to abandon as hopeless their task. Or, while hard at work, suddenly the wind would shift, a puff of smoke would come from a building behind them, followed by belching flames, and then they would see that they were far outflanked. There was nothing to be done but to gather up their hose, pull helmets down on their heads, and with voice and lash to urge the snorting horses through the flames to a place of safety beyond. The people were mad. Despite the police--indeed, the police were powerless--they crowded upon frail coigns of vantage, as fences and high sidewalks propped on rotten piles, which fell beneath their weight, and hurled them, bruised and bleeding, into the dust. They stumbled over broken furniture and fell, and were trampled under foot. Seized with wild and causeless panics, they surged together, backwards and forwards, in the narrow streets, cursing, threatening, imploring, fighting to get free. Liquor flowed like water--for the saloons were broken open and despoiled, and men on all sides were seen to be frenzied with drink. Fourth Avenue and Griswold Street had emptied their denizens into the throng. Ill-omened and obscene birds of night were they--villainous, debauched, pinched with misery, flitted through the crowd, ragged, dirty, unkempt, those negroes with stolid faces and white men who fatten on the wages of shame, glided through the masses like vultures in search of prey. They smashed windows reckless of the severe wounds inflicted on their naked hands, and with bloody fingers impartially rifled till, shelf and cellar, fighting viciously for the spoils of their forays. Women, hollow-eyed and brazen-faced, with foul drapery tied over their heads, their dresses half torn from their skinny bosoms, and their feet thrust into trodden down slippers, moved here and there, --scolding, stealing, scolding shrilly, and laughing with one another at some particularly "splendid" gush of flame or "beautiful" falling-in of a roof. One woman on Adams Street was drawn out of a burning house three times, and rushed back wildly into the blazing ruin each time, insane for

the moment. Everywhere, dust, smoke, flame, heat, thunder of falling walls, crackle of fire, hissing of water, panting of engines, shouts, braying of trumpets, roar of wind, tumult, and uproar. From the roof of a tall stable and warehouse to which the writer clambered the sight was one of unparalleled sublimity and terror. He was above almost the whole fire, for the buildings in the locality were all small wooden structures. The crowds directly under him could not be distinguished, because of the curling volumes of crimsoned smoke through which an occasional scarlet rift could be seen. He could feel the heat and smoke and hear the maddened Babel of sounds, and it required little imagination to believe one's self looking over the adamantine bulwarks of hell into the bottomless pit. On the left, where two tall buildings were in a blaze, the flame piled up high over our heads, making a lurid background, against which were limned in strong relief the people on the roofs between. Fire was a strong painter and dealt in weird effects, using only black and red, and laying them boldly on. We could note the very smallest actions of these figures--a branch-man wiping the sweat from his brow and resettling his helmet; a spectator shading his eyes with his hand to peer into the fiery sea. Another gesticulating wildly with clenched fist brought down on the palm of his hand, as he pointed toward some unseen thing. To the right the faces in the crowd could be seen, but not their bodies. All were white and upturned, and every feature was strongly marked as if it had been part of an alabaster mask. Far away, indeed for miles around, could be seen, ringed by a circle of red light, the sea of housetops, broken by spires and tall chimneys, and the black and angry lake on which were a few pale, white sails.... Wells and State street bridges were caught by the flames, and were soon enveloped by them from one end to the other. LaSalle street tunnel drew in the mighty volume of flame from the south, and became a sub-marine hell. With electric velocity the flames seized upon the frame blocks fronting the river on the North, and leaped from square to square faster than an Arab steed could gallop. The brands formed a kind of infernal skirmish line, felling the way for the grand attack. The storm howled with the fury of a maniac, the flames raged and roared with the unchained malice of a million fiends. Nothing human could stand before or check these combined elements of annihilation. They defied man's greatest efforts, and appeared to be kindled and fed by the arch-demon himself.

Chicago Tribune 11 October 1871

During Sunday night, Monday, and Tuesday, this city has been swept by a conflagration which has no parallel in the annals of history, for the quantity of property destroyed, and the utter and almost irremediable ruin which it wrought. A fire in a barn on the West Side was the insignificant cause of a conflagration which has swept out of existence hundreds of millions of property, has reduced to poverty thousands who, the day before, were in a state of opulence, has covered the prairies, now swept by the cold southwest wind, with thousands of homeless unfortunates, which has stripped 2,600 acres of buildings, which has destroyed public improvements that it has taken years of patient labor to build up, and which has set back for years the progress of the city, diminished her population, and crushed her resources. But to a blow, no matter how terrible, Chicago will not succumb. Late as it is in the season, general as the ruin is, the spirit of her citizens has not given way, and before the smoke has cleared away, and the ruins are cold, they are beginning to plan for the future. Though so many have been deprived of homes and sustenance, aid in money and provisions is flowing in from all quarters, and much of the present distress will be alleviated before another day has gone by. It is at this moment impossible to give a full account of the losses by the fire, or to state the number of fatal accidents which have occurred. So much confusion prevails, and people are so widely scattered, that we are unable for a day to give absolutely accurate information concerning them. We have, however, given a full account of the fire, from the time of its beginning, reserving for a future day a detailed statement of losses. We would be exceedingly obliged if all persons having any knowledge of accidents, or the names of persons who died during the fire, would report them at this office. We also hope that all will leave with, or at No. 15 South Canal street, a memorandum of their losses and their insurance, giving the names of the companies. THE WEST SIDE At 9:30 a small cow barn attached to a house on the corner of DeKoven and Jefferson streets, one block north of Twelfth street, emitted a bright light, followed by a blaze, and in a moment the building was hopelessly on fire. Before any aid could be extended the fire had communicated to a number of adjoining sheds, barns and dwellings, and was rapidly carried north and east, despite the efforts of the firemen. The fire seemed to leap over the engines, and commence far beyond them, and, working to the east and west, either surrounded the apparatus or compelled it to move away. In less than ten minutes the fire embraced the area between Jefferson and Clinton for two blocks north, and rapidly pushed eastward to Canal street. When the fire first engulphed [sic] the two blocks, and the efforts of the undaunted engineers became palpably abortive to quench a single building, an effort was made to head it off from the north, but so great was the area that it already covered at 10:30 o'clock, and so rapidly did it march forward, that by the time the engines were at work the flames were ahead of them, and again they moved on north. From the west side of Jefferson street, as far as the eye could reach, in an easterly direction--and that space was

bounded by the river--a perfect sea of leaping flames covered the ground. The wind increased in fierceness as the flames rose, and the flames wailed more hungrily for their prey as the angry gusts impelled them onward. Successively the wooden buildings on Taylor, Forquer, Ewing, and Polk streets became the northern boundary, and then fell back to the second place. Meanwhile, the people in the more southern localities bent all their energies to the recovery of such property as they could. With ample time to move all that was movable, and with a foreboding of what was coming, in their neighborhood at least, they were out and in safety long before the flames reached their dwellings. They were nearly all poor people, the savings of whose lifetime were represented in the little mass of furniture which blocked the streets, and impeded the firemen. They were principally laborers, most of them Germans or Scandinavians. Though the gaunt phantom of starvation and homelessness, for the night, at least, passed over them, it was singular to observe the cheerfulness, not to say merriment, that prevailed. Though mothers hugged their little ones to their breasts and shivered with alarm, yet, strange to say, they talked freely and laughed as if realizing the utter uselessness of expressing more dolefully their consciousness of ruin. There were many owners of the building who gave themselves up to the consolation of insurance. But even that appeared to weaken as the flames spread, and they gave themselves up to their fate. Many of the victims were stowed away in the houses on the west side of Jefferson street, while there on Clinton, caught between two fires, had rushed away, losing all but their lives and little ones. How many of these latter ones were abandoned, either from terror or in the confusion, it is impossible to guess, but every now and then a woman wild with grief would run in and out among the alleys and cry aloud her loss. The firemen were working with extraordinary perseverance. When it seemed impossible for a man to stand without suffocation they carried their hose, sprinkling the houses opposite and endeavoring to stop its spread in a westerly direction. But it was evident by midnight that human ingenuity could not stem that fiery tide. At the same time, so burdened were the minds of the citizens with the conflagration that the question of where it would end never entered their minds. Engine No. 14, which had retreated gradually north on Canal Street to Foes' lumber yard, or rather where that yard had been two days before, was suddenly surrounded in a belt of flame, and abandoned to its fate.... But, while it seemed as if the demon of flame had reached a desert and needs must die, a new danger appeared to threaten the city. From the South Side, in the neighborhood of Adams street, whereabouts no one on the West Side could guess with any degree of certainty, rose a column of fire, not large, but horribly suggestive. Such engines as could be moved were called from the West to protect the South Side property, and the flames left to die of inanition.... The route of the fire was distinctly visible. In five minutes after the first flame had reached Van Buren street from the southeast, we could see the incipient fire in the South Division as a point three blocks to the north. The blazing brands borne before it had fallen into the sheds and shanties near the Armory, and at once the blaze mounted high.... From the river to Market street, thence to Franklin and Wells, in a northeast direction, it made its way as if directed by an engineer, in an air line, striking Madison street east of Wells, and near LaSalle. But, preceeding the actual blaze was the shower of brands, falling upon roofs, breaking through windows, falling into yards, and each brand starting a new fire. The fire was in full

blast in the rear of the Union Bank and Oriental Buildings, before the actual fire had reached Wells street, three blocks to the southwest. In like manner the Chamber of Commerce building was in flames, the roof of the Court House was ablaze, the old TRIBUNE office was half destroyed, as distinct conflagrations. For a long time the Sherman House resisted destruction, and before it was abandoned the fire had commenced in a dozen places on the North Division. Any one who will take a map will see that the line from the point where the fire began, to the Water Works, was the exact line of the southwest wind. The fire was not continuous. Standing to the windward we could see the fire raging at various points along this line at the same time. The intervening gaps were rapidly overwhelmed by the flames, and shortly after Lill's brewery and the Water Works were ablaze.... No obstacle seemed to interrupt the progress of the fire. Stone walls crumbled before it. It reached the highest roofs, and swept the earth of everything combustible. The gale was intense in its severity. Having reached the lake, we on the west had high hopes that the destructive work would be confined to the distinct path thus mown through the very heart of the city.... The hope that, as the fire had extended to the lake at Chicago avenue, and the wind was blowing fiercely from the west and south, that part of the North Division westward of the line of the fire would escape, was an idle one. Gradually all Clark Street was included, and thence to the west until the coal beds at the river were reached. The scene about daylight was terrific. The entire North Division, from the river to the lake, and as far north as North avenue, was one seething mass of blaze. The roar of this fire was appalling.... Just before daylight there was one continuous sheet of flame...making a semicircle the inner line of which was about seven miles long. All east of this was a perfect ocean of blaze.

Bessie Bradwell
My experience on the memorable October 8th was certainly a unique one. We had retired when we were awakened by the fire. I was thirteen years old at the time. Arising I concluded to save my best clothes by putting them on. My mother, Myra Bradwell, slipped on a wrapper and proceeded to pack a trunk with our most precious possessions. Passing by a closet where my father's Masonic clothes were, she picked up father's Masonic hat (he was a 33rd degree Mason). She put it on her head exclaiming, "Masonry will certainly be an aid at a time like this." With her bird cage tightly clasped in her arms and the poor little bird gasping for breath in the smoke, she went down to the Lake at the floor of Washington St. with my brother. When he saw the city was doomed, my father, Judge Bradwell's first thought was to save the rare old law books which he had been collecting for years and which, if they were burned, he could never replace. I went down with him to his law office which was located on Washington St. opposite the old Chicago Court House. He spent his time picking out these books and carrying them down to the entrance of the building expecting to secure an expressman to take them away for him. After staying there for a while I concluded to go back to the Lake. I picked up a subscription book of my mother's law journal, the Chicago Legal News, which she founded in 1868, and which had attracted widespread attention throughout the legal world. The book contained all the accounts and the list of subscribers and it was very heavy indeed, I said to father "This is a good thing to save and I will take care of it." On the street it was confusion worse confounded with people crowding you on all sides. It was like a snow storm only the flakes were red instead of white. On one side I was jostled by a man shrieking, "Oh the poor prisoners, they will be burned alive, locked up in their cells." On the other side I was hit by a burly negro carrying on top of his head a crate of live chickens. By chance, I met a gentleman and his wife, friends of my father and mother. They said "Come right along with us," and we proceeded down Washington St. toward the Lake. When we got to State St. the State St. bridge was burning. They said "Come, come with us, we must get over this bridge at once." I hesitated whether I should go down to the Lake or go with them but concluded to go with them across the bridge. Never shall I forget the sight as I looked back on the burning City. On the bridge, a man hurrying along, said "This is the end of Chicago" but with all assurance the thirteen-year-old replied, "No, no she will rise again." My coat had been on fire two or three times. People would run up to me and smother the flames with their hands. Then we hurried on, the fire madly pursuing us. After going a long way, we finally concluded it would be best for us to turn and go west, and early in the morning we crossed to the west side. Proceeding on the west side toward the south we finally found a restaurant. It was crowded and we were all relating our thrilling experiences. After breakfast I left my good friends, telling them I would keep on the west side going south until I got up to 12th St., when I would turn east and go to Mich. Ave. where I would try to find my father and mother. I told them if I did not find them I would go on the west side where we used to live to some old neighbors. When I finally reached Mich. Ave., a policeman stopped me saying they were blowing up the buildings and I could

not go on. After I left my father he kept on carrying his valuable books downstairs, and they were then beginning to blow up the buildings. No expressman was in sight. He concluded his life was more valuable than his law books and ran down Washington St. to the Lake. There he found my mother and brother. His first words were "Where is Bessie?" Mother said "Why, I thought she was with you." My father was sure I was dead. My mother, who was always an optimist, said "No, I'd trust that girl to go the ends of the earth--she'll come out all right, don't you worry." The Lake front was covered with dry goods that had been taken out of the stores and placed in the park. My father concluded that the fire would sweep all over the park and that the only way to save the trunk was to bury it. He went to a neighbor's house and got a shovel and proceeded to dig a hole in the park to bury the trunk. The park was used as the City's baseball grounds. Up walked a policeman and showed his star. "Sir, you are defacing the ball grounds." My father raised his shovel to strike the policeman if he tried to stop him. "You go on or I'll make you see more stars than you ever saw in your life." Evidently this powerful 6 ft. 3 man with a shovel ready to strike was more than the policeman bargained for and he said "Oh, go on, Captain, go on." My mother told me many thrilling tales of the sights she saw there on the Lake front. The church of the Rev. Mr. Patterson caught fire first from the tower and swept down. A bystander said "Oh what a pity, the church is going." A man nearby laughed and said "If the Lord won't save his own church, let her go." As the fire burned all inflammable goods up to the Lake front, my family were obliged to go down to the very edge of the Lake and bathe their faces to keep from burning up. About ten o'clock Monday morning October 9th father dug up his precious trunk, the only thing which was saved on the Lake front. An expressman appearing on the scene, father said to him "Will you take us down to Mich. Ave. for $50?" "Alright" said the expressman, and he put the trunk on the wagon. Then looking down and seeing the clouds of smoke made worse by the blowing up of the buildings, said, "No, I won't," and he pulled the trunk off the wagon. Then my desperate father concluded to bluff the expressman a la cave man. He roared at the expressman, "Take your choice of three things: take us as you agreed to and we may go through in safety or we may die in the attempt, or you may stay right here and die now." The bluff worked. Grabbing the trunk and putting it back on the wagon, the expressman said, "For God's sake, come on." The poor little bird in mother's lap was gasping for breath as they rode through to safety, but its life was spared and it lived to a good old age. The next night after the fire, my father attended a citizen's meeting and spoke of the loss of his little girl. A gentleman with whom I had breakfasted on Monday morning jumped to his feet and said, "Don't worry, Judge Bradwell, your daughter is safe on the west side and she carted that great heavy Legal News subscription book for nine hours." With a full list of her subscribers Myra Bradwell went up to Milwaukee and brought out herChicago Legal News on its regular publication day without missing an issue. Alas! the wonderful letters and papers of father's and mother's that the fire burned up!

Mary Kehoe
My dear Gladys, As you requested me to write my recollection of the Chicago fire of Oct. 9th 1871 and tho my memory is rather poor I will try and look back 70 years and test it. To begin with my friend by the name of Mary Nolin went to Vesper service at Holy Name Church on Sunday Eve Oct. 8 1871 and we were returning home when the fire bells rang out. We were somewhat alarmed as there had been a very large fire the Sat. Eve before on the other side of the river which had burned several large blocks. There was great commotion--lots of smoke--and fire engines around. We girls went home. Every one around knew there was a terrific fire for the smoke was coming over way and the wind was blowing very much. At that time we lived on Pearson St. between Cass & Wolcott which later changed to State St. After some time we went to bed. We were all very much on the alert & none of us slept very much. My father said I may as well stay up as pretty soon I will have to go to work and I said you may not have any work as everything seems to be burning up. Our family consisted of my father and stepmother & myself aged 16 and my sister Kate not quite fourteen and my brother Bernard about 12 years old and twin half sisters about three years old. In the morning the fire was still raging at some distance but I am pretty sure it had jumped the river to the North side. This was Monday morning. Katie & I went out & took the twins with us. We went over to Washington Park. It was crowded with people excited & rushing everywhere--trying to save their bundles--birds--dogs--and all kind of things. I heard one woman say to another one how foolish she was to try and save anything--don't you know this is the end of the world and all this time the fire was raging. Looking up about 200 feet you could see huge black planks burning and going with the wind. We were afraid some of them might drop on us but they were going towards the lake and I guess they found a water grave. By that time all the loop was burned and all the bridges--and the Water Works. It was one of the first to go our house. Holy Name Church & St. James' Episcopal, Turner Hall and all past Chicago Ave. It made me feel bad to think--I would never attend service in Holy Name again as I had gone to school in that parish. At Walton Pl.--Dearborn St. we saw a cow head first part way down in a sewer where it had gone to escape the flames (dead of course). As we started for Division St bridge and while on the bridge some of them hollered out--Look at the Gas House & pretty soon that will blow up and we will all be in the river but thank God that never

happened and we finally landed in Goose Island and safety. It was a strip of land between the north branch of the river on the east and also used for a lumber yard & had a few shanties. We stayed on under the high abutment of the bridge most of the night. Towards morning it began to rain and someone invited us into one of the shanties (standing room only) so we got up from under the bridge & went for a walk over the burnt area. The streets looked very clean. No debris of any kind--low fires burning where the houses had been and fresh water trickling from burned water pipes and we had a good drink of fresh water so we went down to the park. The streets were deserted & bundles were strewn along the fence of the big wooden building that was not burned, a strange thing for two or three white stone churches on the other side on Dearborn Ave. were all burnt and no one in the park. So we started back a different way. When we got to the stretch nearest the river we saw several dark or black objects laid out on the road and did not know what they were. A man who was around these said they were the charred bodies of people who had been burned on the bridge and later taken from the water. I think it was the Indiana St. bridge and so we walked on to Division Street bridge we wanted to get over. I never was in such a jam in my life. We did not know where our [folks?] were. Seemed like hours to cross the bridge some of the people wanted to cross east and some to the west. We were just pushed along. So this was Tuesday morning and we had not a bite to eat since Monday morn. And we never thought of food or ever complained. Even our three year old twins they were young bricks & stood it well. I think the fire had burned itself out by that time but we did not know it as lots of coal piles along the river banks were still burning and they burned for months and I saw it in a paper long afterward a man lit his pipe a year & a day afterward from the burning coal piles. When we had crossed the bridge at the corner people who seemed excited pointed down to the next dock & such a grand surprise. We went over where two men with good food & hot coffee were in charge and we all ate plenty and for weeks after there was always plenty for any one who came by and helped them lots afterward. On that morning all out of town paper headlines was "Chicago in Ashes" & they sent in plenty food for all. We did not know where our folks were and we were just pushed long. Some time later we met a neighbor who knew us and she took us over to the Sacred Heart Convent on West-Taylor Street--as her daughter went to school there. We stayed there a couple of days and nights. Later on we went by Saint Patrick's school where we saw people we knew and some sisters from the burnt area. St. Patrick's had opened up their large school house for the people so we stayed there for a while. We had a blanket and slept on the floor. A hard bed but we stood it well. We also slept some nights in a Protestant Church with red cushion seats. This was on the West side which was not burned. We even fed well at all times. We were offered work outside the city at Desmoines Iowa and were given tickets to go there but we changed our mind. We were too scared to go there.

The relief & aid society built barracks of rough lumber in Washington Park for the people to live in. Two rooms for families. A new kitchen stove and the usual kitchen things and anyone could get a new Singer sewing machine just for the asking. Food was brought every day so we got on pretty well. There was lots of activity lots of building going on and plenty of work. 'Good times' so we were [not?] the worse for our awful experience. Except any eyes were swollen & red for a long time from the smoke & I hope Dear Gladys you can read this as I am nervous so I will close with much love and best wishes to yourself & family. I remain sincerely Your loving Grandmother Mary Kehoe