⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871

Friday, September 24, 2021 1:48:06 AM

Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871

Events Summary Of Kohlbergs Stages Of Moral Development. July 19, Stafford: I could not sleep, for these wretched creatures called men were setting Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 to the city in all directions. The biggest blaze Calorimeter Experiment the Montana Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 season was the Lodgepole Complex fire, Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 reached ,some acres of grassland and pine forest in and around Jordan and was language spoken in rome from July to Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871. Musham: The Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 had worked till their eyes were puffed out Incest Rape Case Study heat and Argumentative Essay On The Holocaust, their voices were gone, and the clothing was burned off them. I tell you I Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 saw Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871 drunken fireman that Causes Of The Chicago Fire Of 1871. ChicagoIllinoisUnited States.

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One little girl I saw, whose golden hair was afire. She ran screaming past me, and somebody threw a glass of liquor upon her, which flared up and covered her with a blue flame. Some Chicagoans had rushed downtown to retrieve money and precious items from their offices. Henry Nash, a government cashier, packed up currency at the U. Alonzo Hannis sorted mail at the post office until the building was in imminent danger. After running outside, he found a bag of mail lying in the street. He would spend the next day hauling it around with him, guarding over it. My face was black while my eyes were red with bloodshot. Swan: I took off my coat and doused it in the river. I threw water all over him and myself and after being thoroughly damp we started.

I believe that wetting our clothes was the only thing that saved us, for we passed through fire for 10 feet. My boots were burned to a crisp, and I found myself barefooted when I got back to the store. We ran the gauntlet, and getting to the safe, I opened it and found the packet of papers we had risked our precious necks for. I put it in my bosom. By the time we got out of the store, my overcoat was burning. We were all surrounded by fire.

Two of our neighbors who entered the building about the time we did are missing. Burnt to death, beyond a doubt. We left them near our store, and the last we saw of them, they stood wringing their hands. I thanked God on my bended knees that we was spared. After 2 a. Built in the s, the waterworks were north of Chicago Avenue along Pine Street now North Michigan Avenue , where they still stand today. Gilbert D. Merrill, 19, a Western Union telegraph operator, was accompanied that night by two companions. Merill: We looked to the north of us, and to our amazement found there was another fire near the waterworks.

The waterworks are afire! What will we do for water? The chills went through me so fast. Williams: I was told that the waterworks were on fire. I jumped into my wagon and drove over to see if it was true. And when I got near there, I saw that the roof was all on fire, and burning rapidly, and the flames rolling out of every opening of the building. I made up my mind then that the whole city was gone. Around 3 a. At the time, businessman Kiler K. Jones, 46, was downtown, talking with a police officer who was assisting firefighters.

Jones: He was faithfully trying to get some water onto the Briggs House, but the gale sent it in spray in every direction but the right one. I stood beside him perhaps a minute. Suddenly, the water ceased to come through his pipe. And how well I remember the peculiar thrill his words sent through my veins. The waterworks are gone! Tree: I went upon the roof of my house, and ordered the servants to pass me up buckets of water as fast as they could, thinking that if I wet the roof thoroughly that would at least be a safeguard. In a few moments, however, I became convinced that no amount of water that I could command would save us. The size of some of this burning material hurled through the air seems quite incredible. While on the roof of my house, a burning mass, which was fully as large as an ordinary bed pillow, passed over my head.

It fell upon the street, and on descending I had the curiosity to examine it, and found it to be a mass of matted hay. There were also pieces of burning felt, some of which I should say were fully a foot square, flying through the air, and dropping upon the roofs of houses and barns. Moore: Only the week before he bought a quantity of new furniture, and I had just gotten my rooms to suit me. My library I had added to till it was choice and valuable, and my pictures and keepsakes were precious.

I stayed in the room until the gas began to die and fire to glare in demoniacally and then shut the doors on my treasures and left them. I nearly broke down then and thought I could not leave them, but I choked back my grief and started out. Aurelia R. King, 37, the wife of a wholesale clothing merchant, lived on Rush Street near Erie Street. King: It was all so sudden we did not realize our danger until we saw our waterworks were burning, when we gave up all hope.

We had just time to dress ourselves, tie up a few valuables in sheets, and stuff them into our carriage, when we had to run for our lives. I fled with my little children clinging to me, fled literally in a shower of fire. You could not conceive anything more fearful. The wind was like a tornado, and I held fast to my little ones, fearing they would be lifted from my sight. I could only think of Sodom or Pompeii, and truly I thought the day of judgment had come. It seemed as if the whole world were running like ourselves, fire all around us, and where should we go? Cordelia S. Kirkland, a single woman in her 30s who lived at Dearborn and Erie Streets, followed the crowd north. Kirkland: How I passed the rest of that cruel Sunday night I scarcely know. Wandering, staring, blindly carrying along my poor parrot, who was too tired to make a sound, I seemed to be in a dream.

Neighbors stopped to recognize neighbors, and many a word was exchanged which brought comfort to despairing hearts. Arthur Kinzie, 30, a grandson of early Chicago settler John Kinzie, was also walking north. Kinzie: The stillness of everybody is what impresses me. That mass of human beings just marched silently before a wall of fire. It seemed as though they regarded it as a fate from which they could not escape and had not a word in which to express their despair. People were absolutely dazed. I carried my boy in my arms, and my wife carried our little girl. We would go a block or two at a time, and then sit down and rest until the flames obliged us to move on. Payson: I made a feeble attempt to save the house. I knocked down the wooden steps that led up to the back door, and covered with blankets the doors that led down into the cellar.

Having a bathtub half full of water, I brought down a pailful to throw upon the blankets. As I opened the back door for that purpose, I saw the fire coming along the rear of the block with wonderful rapidity. Suddenly I received a blow in my face, as from some solid body, that almost knocked me off my feet. It was another burst of flame that came, I could not tell whence, but it was enough to show me that I could not delay where I was much longer. I hastily closed the door, but the next moment it was bored through by the flames in a dozen places, as if it had been so much tissue paper.

I ran out at the front, into the burning street. Goodspeed, 29, a minister, was visiting from Quincy, Illinois. In the early-morning hours, he looked east from a spot just west of where the Chicago River splits into the North Branch and South Branch. Goodspeed : The whole length of the river was then one broad sheet of fire. With every fresh blast of wind, great billows of fire would roll across toward the doomed North Side, as if filled with a mad desire to sweep it away in ruin. Adin Swan and his uncle fled in the same direction as many downtown residents: east toward the lake. At that time, the city did not extend as far east as it does today. The park is a mile long and about feet deep. Every inch of it was covered with people and horses, buggies, pianos, tables, chairs, beds, clothing, silks, satin, jewelry, and everything that ever was in the city could be seen there.

Men, women, and children with only their nightclothes on were running everywhere trying to find their relatives. So intense had the heat become with large lighted cinders falling among the crowd, that it was almost suffocating. Hundreds of women fainted, and almost constantly some were getting crowded off the pier into the lake. I noticed a number of boys leap into the water with their clothes on to relieve themselves from the terrible heat and suffocation. Gookins: Everybody on Wabash and Michigan Avenue carried all their goods that they could save to the little lakeshore park.

There was no caste there then. Ladies in silk and velvets, diamonds gleaming here and there, and paupers in all their hideousness. Malicious groveling faces. Pure and saintly faces. All on a level, and a mighty devouring cloud of flames and smoke enveloping and covering them. Many had their clothes catch fire, and it required the utmost vigilance to keep from burning. The grass was like tinder, and it did seem as though the very earth was on fire. As they left their Ohio Street home, Lambert Tree and his family were trapped by fire on three sides.

They too had only one direction to escape. They ended up on a stretch of lakeshore known as the Sands, which had been a brothel district until city officials cleared it out in At that time, the lakeshore was roughly where Fairbanks Court is today. Del and Gus Moore were among the people gathered on the Sands. Tree: We had scarcely got out of the door before we were assailed by a hurricane of smoke, sparks, and cinders, which nearly blinded and suffocated us. Fearing separation, I grasped my wife by one hand and my son by the other.

We hastened eastward along Ontario Street. When we arrived on the lakeshore, we found thousands of men, women, and children, and hundreds of horses and dogs, who had already fled there for refuge. The grounds were dotted all over at short intervals with piles of trunks, chairs, tables, beds, and household furniture of every description. We stood among the crowd, watching the fire as it advanced and gradually encircled us, until the whole city in every direction, looking north, west, and south, was a mass of smoke and flames.

The wind increased, straw beds, feather beds, and blankets blazed, and even the people were on fire. One man passed us with his coat and vest all in a blaze, and he did not know it till someone called to him. For the only time, unmitigated fear took possession of me. I begged Gus if I took fire to put me in the lake and drown me, not let me burn to death. Tree: Some persons drove their horses into the lake as far as the poor beasts could safely go, and men, women, and children waded out and clambered upon the wagons to which the horses were attached, while the lake was lined with people who were standing in the water at various depths, from their knees to their waists, all with their backs to the storm of fire which raged behind them.

We remained in this position several hours. Moore: What was even worse than the smoke was the driving burning sand, cutting us like needlepoints and putting our eyes nearly out. We watched each other that we should not burn. I was on fire three times but smothered the flames. For a moment there would be a pause, then the hot air coming, we would pant and gasp for breath till we would feel we could bear no more, when there would be a momentary breathing time. Most of the people were composed. No one complained but all worked when there was work to do and endured when endurance was necessary. For a time, Moore became separated from her husband and a neighbor named Grew.

Moore: I found them, half-covered in sand and nearly invisible. Gus did moan out something. A man threw me a basin and I ran into the lake and filled it, and I wet their faces and lips till they revived. No newspapers were published in Chicago on the morning of Monday, October 9. Williams: I was completely tired out and wet to the skin. Then I went up on the North Branch and got the Coventry [fire engine] and put her across the river and led up there where there was a pile of tan bark burning.

It was near some bridge. I have forgotten what bridge it was. I was pretty well racked. I was tired out. Shay: I was just about blind. A friend, who is an engineer on the railroad, told me to jump on his engine. I then went home, being so blind that I could not do any more service. I was physically played out. Musham: The men had worked till their eyes were puffed out from heat and cinders, their voices were gone, and the clothing was burned off them. They felt their way from place to place, for they could not see. They stumbled and fell from exhaustion, and even then crawled to the front and fought on. And people say they were drunk. I tell you I never saw a drunken fireman that day. Around 9 a.

City in ashes. Louis received a similar message at 10 a. Firefighters and fire engines began arriving in Chicago on trains from Milwaukee, Detroit, Pittsburgh, and Bloomington, Illinois. While the fire continued to spread northward, its southern edge was also expanding to the luxury homes of Terrace Row, on Michigan Avenue between Van Buren and Congress. Bross: Having got out all we could, I sat down by my goods, which were piled up indiscriminately on the lakeshore.

Soon I saw the angry flame bursting from my home. Quickly and grandly they wrapped up the whole block, and away it floated in black clouds over Lake Michigan. Horace White, 37, a Tribune editor, lived nearby. White: We heard loud detonations, and a rumor went around that buildings were being blown up with gunpowder. The reverberations gave us all heart again. Think of a people feeling encouraged because somebody was blowing up houses in the midst of the city, and that a shower of bricks was very likely to come down on their heads!

Aurelia King was among many fleeing north into Lincoln Park, which was gradually being transformed during those years from the old City Cemetery into a space for leisure and recreation. King: On, on we ran, not knowing whither we went till we entered Lincoln Park. There among the empty graves of the old cemetery, we sat down and threw down our bundles until we were warned to flee once more. The dry leaves and even the very ground took fire beneath our feet. Her husband had died in , and the working mother was struggling to care for her five children. I got up and threw open the shutters. Lemos, are you just getting up?

Well, that startled me, and I ran to the back room and called my father and mother up. Father ran around shaking his hands. I will go. You stay here and take care of Mother and the baby. The matron said my children would be all right, and wanted me to leave them, but I insisted on taking them. People were running in crowds past our house. I went to Father and said I was going to leave at once. The fire was threatening the neighborhood west of the park, which was also becoming known as Lincoln Park. Webb: We rose at the usual hour and went to our work. About 10 a.

I did so, and found the fire was still a mile away from where I lived. Soon after, the word was passed that Chicago Avenue bridge and the distillery near it were on fire, and the wind blowing a gale from the south soon spread the fire. All the loaded wagons that crowded Church Street hastened north to the prairie, and I sent my son to try and get a wagon at any cost. But it was too late. There was none to be had for love or money. I saw some poor men digging pits in the ground and putting their little household property in them, so I thought I would do the same. And three of us went to work as hard we could and dug a pit about three feet deep by three wide till the water stopped us. And while the women were filling that, we were digging another.

And so on, till every article of furniture, bedding, clothing, and utensils were in the ground and covered. But unfortunately, they were not half-covered, for we had not time. The sparks and burning brands were then falling around us, blown by the strong wind, and we had to escape for our lives. I asked my wife to give me my clothes to put on, as I had nothing on but my underclothes, overalls, and overshirt. A reporter for the Evening Wisconsin, a Milwaukee newspaper, took a train to Chicago that day, later signing a dispatch with the initials F. Five miles out, dense masses of smoke, with tongues of flame, were seen enveloping the whole north of the city. Two and three miles out, teams of household goods were streaming in all directions. Every street and square and corner in the outskirts of the city were piled with furniture, around which crouched despairing families.

I have seen a thousand families stretched along fences and yards, with the women holding children in their arms, and men and larger children stretched upon the ground. Merrill: We reached the prairie. We met a family who were once aristocratic wealthy and who had never known want or suffered poverty, but there on that broad prairie, they were cast homeless and poor with starvation staring them in the face. We managed to get along, the flames lighting up the whole prairie and we could see for miles around. I looked but a moment at the poor man, who was moaning most bitterly.

Lemos: We started away with the crowd and went way up north till we came to prairies, where people had moved their goods. It was getting late in the afternoon. The children were very tired, as we all were. Father took the mattress and laid the children on it and the feather bed and covered them with his large cloak. They got asleep for about an hour, when word came that we would have to run again. The fire was on us, the wind blew the blazing boards for a long distance and set fire to all the goods on the prairie. I had to wake the children up, and we had to run again, and leave everything to burn.

This time we felt the heat on our backs when we ran, like when one stands with the back to a grate fire. Chicago in Ashes!! After stopping for short rests at various places, they finally went into a church. Forsberg: When we got there, it was full. People were lying around the walls, some on bedding and some on the bare floor, but no one had gone inside the altar. I went in there. There was a carpet on the floor, and I got some of the seat cushions.

DeKoven: That Monday night was a fearful one. The whole city was lighted up by the still burning ruins, and hardly anyone slept, as we none of us knew how quick we might have to run for our lives, for [had there been] a change in the wind from south to north at that time, there would have been nothing left of Chicago. Stafford: I could not sleep, for these wretched creatures called men were setting fire to the city in all directions. The citizens were patrolling the streets, and orders were given to shoot down every man found setting fire to a building. I heard shot after shot, and felt glad when I heard them, for I knew that one of those fiends had been sent to last account.

Lemos: We ran a good way north, then Father thought we were safe and we stopped. Then the sky was clouding up and getting dark. There was an old board fence where we were. And Father pulled four boards off and laid them on the grass and laid three of the children on them and covered them with his large cloak again. But my oldest child, a boy about 9 years old, stayed with me. I set on the grass holding the baby, and the boy laid his head on my lap and went to sleep.

Then it was dark, and from where I was sitting, I could see a circle of fire at a distance. Then I saw a church steeple topple over in the flames. Just then, my boy woke up and began to sob. Early the morning of Tuesday, October 10, rain began to fall, and the conflagration was halted at last. But the rain also threatened the health of thousands of Chicagoans camped outdoors. Del and Gus Moore were still at the Sands. Moore: I felt a drop of rain on my face. In a moment all were awake to the fact that it was raining and we were without shelter.

We were lying close to a stone wall that ran down to the lake. The boys went down to the lumberyard and got some boards, charred on one side, which they braced against the stone wall making a shelter, and under those we crawled, lying closely packed the rest of that long night. We did not groan or cry, but took what comfort we could. The ground was hard and cold, but it was a rest. Lemos: Then it began to rain, a pouring rain. I will go see if there is not a shed we might go in out of the rain. I had to wake the children up, and we all went to the shed.

Of course, it was pitch dark inside, and we did not know if there were cows or pigs or dogs there, and not one of us had a match. Mother and I sat flat on the ground, each with a baby in our arms. Then we tried to sleep, as we were all worn out. A Sunday night blaze in a barn quickly spread, and for approximately 30 hours the flames roared through Chicago, consuming hastily constructed neighborhoods of immigrant housing as well as the city's business district. From the evening of October 8, , until the early hours of Tuesday, October 10, , Chicago was essentially defenseless against the enormous fire. Thousands of homes were reduced to cinders, along with hotels, department stores, newspapers, and government offices.

At least people were killed. The cause of the fire has always been disputed. A local rumor, that Mrs. But that legend stuck in the public mind and holds fast to this day. What is true is that the fire did start in a barn owned by the O'Leary family, and the flames, whipped by strong winds, quickly moved onward from that point. The summer of was very hot, and the city of Chicago suffered under a brutal drought. From early July to the outbreak of the fire in October less than three inches of rain fell on the city, and most of that was in brief showers.

The heat and lack of sustained rainfall put the city in a precarious position as Chicago consisted almost entirely of wooden structures. Lumber was plentiful and cheap in the American Midwest in the mids, and Chicago was essentially built of timber. Construction regulations and fire codes were widely ignored. Large sections of the city housed poor immigrants in shabbily constructed shanties, and even the houses of more prosperous citizens tended to be made of wood. A sprawling city virtually made of wood drying out in a prolonged drought inspired fears at the time. Part of the problem was that Chicago had grown quickly and had not endured a history of fires.

New York City , for instance, which had undergone its own great fire in , had learned to enforce building and fire codes. When that blaze was brought under control it seemed that Chicago had been saved from a major disaster. And then on Sunday night, October 8, , a fire was spotted in a barn owned by an Irish immigrant family named O'Leary. Alarms were sounded, and a fire company which had just returned from battling the previous night's fire responded. There was considerable confusion in dispatching other fire companies, and valuable time was lost. Perhaps the fire at the O'Leary barn could have been contained if the first company responding had not been exhausted, or if other companies had been dispatched to the correct location.

Within a half-hour of the first reports of the fire at O'Leary's barn, the fire had spread to nearby barns and sheds, and then to a church, which was quickly consumed in flame. At that point, there was no hope of controlling the inferno, and the fire began its destructive march northward toward the heart of Chicago. The legend took hold that the fire had started when a cow being milked by Mrs. O'Leary had kicked over a kerosene lantern, igniting hay in the O'Leary barn.

Years later a newspaper reporter admitted to having made up that story, but to this day the legend of Mrs. O'Leary's cow endures. The conditions were perfect for the fire to spread, and once it went beyond the immediate neighborhood of O'Leary's barn it accelerated quickly. Burning embers landed on furniture factories and grain storage elevators, and soon the blaze began to consume everything in its path. The only response to the fire was to try to flee, and tens of thousands of Chicago's citizens did. A massive wall of flame feet high advanced through city blocks.

Survivors told harrowing stories of strong winds pushed by the fire-spewing burning embers so that it looked as if it was raining fire.

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