History of the Great Chicago Fire, October 8, 9, and 10, 1871 / Goodsell, James H.

SOUTH DIVISION.

As early as twelve o'clock, the air of the extreme south division was hot with the fierce breath of the conflagration. The gale blew savagely, and upon its wings were borne pelting cinders, black driving smoke, bazing bits of timber, and glowing coals. These swept thickly over the river, drifting upon house-tops and drying the wooden buildings along the southern terminus of Market, Franklin, Adams, Monroe and Madison streets still closer to the combustion point for which they were already too well prepared.

The housetops were covered with anxious workers, and cistern streams, tubs and buckets were in constant use to subdue the flying bits of fire that were constantly clinging to shingles and cornices.

THE FIRST FOOTHOLD

obtained by the destroying angel in the south division was in the tar works adjacent to the gas works, just south of Adams street, and nearly opposite the armory. Almost instantaneously the structure was one livid sheet of flame, emitting a dense volume of thick black smoke that curtained this portion of the city as with the pall of doom. Faster than a man could walk, the flames leaped from house to house until fifth avenue (Wells street) was reached. A steamer or two were sent thither, but their previous experiences were only repeated, and no perceptible check was given to the onward progress of the flames. From the gas works to the point it had now reached, nearly the entire space was filled with small wooden structures, and their demolition was the work of but a few minutes.

THE FIRST GREAT DANGER

apprehended from the ignition of the tar was of its communication to the gas works, and in less than ten minutes the entire establishment was on fire, the immense gasometer being completely surrounded by a wall of flame. The danger from its explosion drove the crowds away, and other scenes of equally absorbing interest occupying their attention, when the explosion came, it was witnessed by comparatively a few people, and was,

it is believed, unaccompanied with any fatal results. The grand metre was apparently filled to about half its capacity. Its destruction did not occur until some three hours later.

Apparently but a few minutes subsequent to the ignition of the gas works, the wooden buildings south of the armory were found to be on fire, forming the apex of another widening track of desolation, and very soon joining with the other, the two uniting like twin demons of destruction, the armory helping to glut their fiendish cravings.

It may be of interest here to note the peculiarities of the wind currents and their strange effects. During all this time, as during the entire continuance of the fire, the wind was blowing a gale from a southwesterly direction; and above the tops of the buildings its course from midnight until 4 or 5 o'clock, varied but little, not veering more than one or two points of the compass. To the observer on the street, however, traversing the main thoroughfares and the alleys, the wind would seem to come from every direction. This is easily explained. New centres of intense heat were being continually formed, and the sudden rarification of the air in the different localities and its consequent displacement caused continually artificial currents, which swept around the corners and through the alleys in every direction, often with the fury of a tornado. This will account partly for the rapid widening of the tracks of devastation from their apex to the lake, as well as the phenomenon of the fire--to use a nautical phrase,"-- eating into the wind."

THE GRAND PACIFIC HOTEL,

upon which the roof had but just been placed, and which, like the still-born child, was created only for tHe grave, was among the first of the better class of structures assaulted by the fire. Angered at its imposing front, and scorning the implied durability of its superb dimensions, the flames stormed relentlessly in, above, and around it, until, assured that it was at their absolute mercy, they left it tottering to the earth, and crawled luridly along the street in search of further prey. It was now that the waves of fire began to take upon themselves the mightiest of proportions.

How it was that, while even a hundred buildings might be blazing, others, far in advance of the track of the storm, could not be protected, has not been understood by those who were not despairingly following the course of destruction. It was partly on account of the artificial currents already mentioned, and because the huge tongues of flame actually stretched themselves out upon the pinions of the wind, for acres. Sheets of fire would reach over entire blocks, wrapping in every building inclosed by the four streets bounding them, and scarcely allowing the dwellers in the houses time to dash away unscorched. Hardly twenty minutes had elapsed from the burning of the Pacific hotel before the fire had cut its hot swath through every one of the

magnificent buildings intervening, upon La Salle street, and had fallen mercilessly upon the Chamber of Commerce.

The few heroic workers of the police and fire departments who had not -already dropped out of the ranks of fighters from sheer exhaustion, sought to once more check the progress of devastation by the aid of powder. A number of kegs were thrown into the basement of the grand business palace of the Merchants' Insurance company. A slow match was applied, and as the crowd drew back the explosion ensued. A broad, black chasm was opened in the face of the street, but with as little attention to the space intervening as though it had only been across an ordinary alley, the arms of flame swung over the gap, and tore lustily at the rows of banking houses and insurance structures beyond.

THE COURT HOUSE

was now faced with a swaying front of fire on the south and west sides. But as the building was in the centre of an open square, and solidly constructed, it was taken as a matter of course that it would be able to survive, if nothing else should be left standing around it.

"Talk about the Court House," said a leading banker, among the spectators, whose own establishment had already been melted to the very foundations, "it will show to be about the only sound building on the south side to-morrow."

And yet, in another five minutes, a great burning timber, wrenched from the tumbling ruins of a La Salle street edifice, had been hurled in wild fury at the wooden dome of the Court House. As if a thousand slaves of the fire-king had hidden within the fatal structure, awaiting this signal, the flames seemed to leap to simultaneous life in every part of the building, and soon the hot, scorched walls alone remained.

The course of the fire was now directed almost due east for a few minutes, and Hooley's opera house, The Republican office and the whole of Washington street to Dearborn was consumed.

CROSBY'S OPERA HOUSE

came next in order. Renovations to the extent of $80,000 had just been instituted in this edifice, and the place was to have been re-dedicated that same night by the Thomas orchestra. The combustible nature of the building caused it to burn with astonishing rapidity, and soon its walls surged in, carrying with them, among other treasures, the contents of three mammoth piano houses and a number of art treasures, including paintings by some of the leading masters of the old and new worlds.

The St. James hotel was next fired, and here, at the corner of State and Madison streets, the two savage currents of fire that had parted company near the Chamber of Commerce joined hideous issue once more. The course of one of these currents has been indicated. The other had swept down Franklin, Wells and La Salle streets to the main

banks of the river, swallowing elevators, banks, trade palaces, the Briggs, Sherman, Tremont and other large hotels, Wood's museum, the beautiful structures of Lake and Randolph streets, and the entire surface comprised between Market, South Water, Washington and State streets.

Many lives were known to have been lost up to this time. But in the infernal furnace into which Chicago had been turned, it was impossible to conjecture or dare to imagine how many. The heat, more intense than anything that had ever been described in the annals of broadspread conflagrations of the past, had fairly crumbled to hot dust and ashes the heaviest of building stone. Of what chance was there then of ever finding the remains of lost humanity by those who were already inquiring, with mad anxiety, for the missing ones? But all thoughts of others soon began to vanish in fears for the safety of the living. The stoutest of masonry and thickest of iron had disappeared like wax before the blast.

Field & Leiter's magnificent store, second only in size and value of contents to one dry-goods house in the land, was already in flames. The streets were now crammed with vehicles conveying away valuables, and the sidewalks were running over with jostling men and women, all in a dazed, wild strife for the salvation of self, friends and property. The thieving horror had not yet broken out, and up to this time there had been a common, noble striving to aid the sufferers and stay the march of the furious flames.

Crackling and howling demoniacally at the ruin and misery left behind, eager for more valuable prey, the flames sped on, taking in their course--the track continually widening from the causes mentioned above--Farwell hall and the elegant stone structures surrounding it, and all the newspaper offices except that of The Tribune, leaving nothing behind but the grandest ruins the world ever saw.

The block bounded by Dearborn, Washington, State and Madison streets was some little time in burning. Indeed, after the corner occupied by the Union Trust and Savings institution had burned, it was believed that the large vacant lot created a short time before by the tearing down of the old Dearborn school, would save Mayo's corner and the St. Denis hotel. But the fire, in spite of the terrible strength of the wind in the other direction, eventually contrived to beat up against the gale, and, by devouring the stores of Gossage and others, on the west side of State, and the book houses of Griggs, Keen & Cooke and the Western News company, on the east side, to blister the St. Denis to the igniting point, and then McVicker's theatre and The Tribunebuilding formed the northern boundary of the south division.

It was here that the few workers now left with courage enough to contest with miserable fortune made their final stand. The Tribune building was believed to be fire-proof if any structure devised by man could be proof against such a combination of the elements as was now raging.

THE POSTOFFICE

had yielded to the assault and was only a smouldering ruin, and from away down to the devastated depot of the Illinois Central the flames had pushed back until they interlocked once more at the custom-house with the fire that had torn its way from the Michigan Central depot. Surrounded by

THE ENEMY ON EVERY QUARTER,

and having held proudly up against the attack till long after daybreak, there was the same sad capitulations enacted here that had been the story of the entire night. McVicker's yielded first and was instantly a heap of brick and ashes, and The Tribune structure was not long in following, the walls of this latter structure, with those of the Custom House, First National bank, and Court House proving the most stubborn evidences of the worth of the architect's skill remaining in Chicago. Up to this time, the elegant and costly row of buildings on Dearborn street north of the Postoffice had escaped. They included the two Honore structures, the Bigelow house, which was soon to have been opened, and the DeHaven block, the latter extending from Quincy to Jackson street. The two blocks bounded by Monroe, State, Jackson and Dearborn streets, that resting on Jackson street, including the Palmer house and the Academy of Design, were also intact. A new line of flame, however, had been formed some distance to the southward of the armory and west of the Michigan Southern depot, and was sweeping on in its mad, resistless career, and it was felt that the above mentioned property was in the greatest peril.

THE DEPOT,

a noble stone structure, upon which great reliance was placed for the safety of the adjacent property to the eastward, made but a feeble resistance, and soon, with a large number of passenger cars inside, was in ruins. The large row of wooden tenements on Griswold street, fronting the depot on the east, succumbed at once, presenting a wall of fire of the length of the depot. It burned rapidly through to Third avenue, but at that point the wind, which had begun to show a changeableness it had not previously exhibited, veered to a point considerably east of south, in which quarter it remained for some time. Encouraged by this,

A DESPERATE FIGHT

was made on Third avenue, and for some minutes, minutes that seemed hours in the torturing alternations of hope and fear, the fiery monster was held at bay. The stone yards on La Salle street also temporarily checked the progress of the fire south. Thousands of people occupying the large tract from Third avenue and Dearborn street to the lake watched, with anxious countenances and bated breath, the result of the battle that was to decide the fate of their homes. The wind benignly continued to blow from the same quarter, and the hopes that had been raised, slight at first, grew stronger. It was

AN AWFUL CRISIS.

At no period in the history of that terrible day were more momentous interests trembling in the balance. The occupants of the Michgan avenue palaces and the humble cottagers were there side by side, breathing supplications and agonizing prayers that their hearthstones might be spared.

The Christian Brothers' school, at the corner of Van Buren street and Third avenue, a massive brick structure, was soon ignited, but its walls proved sound and strong, and the interior was almost entirely burned before they fell. New hopes were born of this, but only to be succeeded by the blankest despair.

And the suspense was not for long. Making a clean skip over the DeHaven block, a shower of fire-brands, hurled thither by a treacherous gust of wind, alighted on the roof of the Bigelow house, and that magnificent building was soon a seething furnace of flame, quickly followed by the two Honore buildings.

The one nearest the Bigelow hotel was unfinished, but was rapidly approaching completion, and as a model of architectural beauty was hardly rivaled in the city.

From these buildings, as if maddened at their slight detention, the flames spread to the standing buildings west and southwest with redoubled fury, enwrapping the block containing the Palmer house and Academy of Design, and that directly north, in an inconceivably short time.

The Palmer house was the tallest building in the city, eight stories high, three of which were in its mansard roof, and the sccne of its demolition, which was more rapid than the account can be transmitted to paper, was inexpressibly grand. The march of the devouring element from this point to the lake was uninterrupted, the intervening buildings, including many of the finest private residences in the city, melting away like the dry stubble of the prairie.

For some time after the ignition of the Bigelow house, the DeHaven block stood unscathed, but at last, it, too, was forced to yield to the inevitable. It was a long three-story building, the opposite side of Dearborn street being occupied by a row of small wooden tenements. A stream was brought to bear upon these, and in the blistering heat three firemen, heroes every one, fully conscious of the tremendous interests committed to them, stood manfully at their posts. They did their work nobly and successfully. The DeHaven block was levelled to the ground and the whole row of wooden buildings had been perfectly protected. from a thousand parched throats the thankful ejaculation went up;

"We are saved!"

Delusive hope! One danger was averted only to be succeeded by others beyond the power of man to avert. The wind again suddenly turned to the southwest carrying with it a baptism of fire which made it apparent that the whole remaining portion of the city north of Harrison street was doomed. Churches, palatial residences,

everything was swept by the besom of destruction, an irresistible avalanche of flame.

In concert with the work of devastation just described, from the track of flame several blocks below, which had long before cut its way to the lake, as if executing a well-devised military manoeuvre, the fire had been steadily eating its way against the wind, the point of junction being at, or near Adams street. From this it was evident that, even with the wind blowing a gale from the south, the entire south division was in danger. The supply of water had long before failed, except from the basin.

A MORE HEROIC TREATMENT

alone could save what remained of the city. It was at once and unhesitatingly determined upon, and then commenced the first systematic and thorough use of gunpowder as the only means of preventing the continuance of the work of ruin. It was conducted under the personal supervision of Gen. Sheridan. Building after building was demolished, the reports of the successive explosions coming at intervals of a very few moments, and being plainly audible above the continuous din, each discharge announcing that at last the battle was being fought and won. The great fire which was to render Chicago forever memorable in the annals of history was ended in the south division.

THE LAST BUILDING TO BURN

was "Terrace row," a palatial block of private residences on Michigan avenue, extending northward from Harrison street. Its destruction required two or three hours, as nothing remained in its rear to accelerate the work. About eighteen hours from the first discovery of the fire on De Koven street, the last wall of "Terrace row" fell. In the south division, north of a diagonal line, reaching from the east end of Harrison street to Polk street bridge, there remained two buildings unharmed, one the large business block immediately north of Randolph street bridge, and the other an unfinished stone structure at the corner of Monroe and La Salle streets. The entire business portion of the city was obliterated. Two-thirds of the territorial area of the city was unscathed, but Chicago, as a great business mart, the proud commercial centre of the growing west, was no more. Was ever devastation more complete!

Immense as is the burnt area in the south division, for a single fortunate circumstance it might, and probably would, have been doubled. Immediately south of the Michigan Southern passenger depot was a long, fire-proof warehouse; on the side fronting the fire, there were but two windows, which afforded the only possible opportunity for the fire fiend to effect a lodgment. These were successfully guarded by a small corps of men with pails. The building was saved, and with it, undoubtedly, the entire tract north of Twelfth street.