University of Virginia Library

44. CHAPTER XLIV.
BARON LUDOLPH LEARNS THE TRUTH.

With eyes ablaze with excitement, Dennis plunged
into the region just before the main line of fire, knowing
that there the danger would be greatest. None realized
the rapidity of its advance. At the door of a tenement-house
he found a pale, thin, half-clad woman tugging
at a sewing-machine.

“Madam,” cried Dennis, “you have no time to waste
over that burden if you wish to escape.”

“What is the use of escaping without it?” she answered
sullenly. “It is the only way I have of making a living.”

“Give it to me then, and follow as fast as you can.”
Shouldering what meant to the poor creature shelter,
clothing, and bread, he led the way to the southeast, out
of the line of fire. It was a long, hard struggle, but they
got through safely.

“How can I ever pay you?” cried the grateful woman.

“By your prayers. Good-bye,” and he was off again.

“Well,” she muttered, “I never prayed much before,
but I am going to begin now.”

Dennis determined to make his way to the west, and
windward of the fire, as he could then judge better of the
chances of its spreading. He thought it safer to go
around and back of the flames, as they now seemed much
wider, and nearer the south branch of the Chicago river.

He found that he could cross the burnt district a little

to the southwest, for the small wooden houses were swept
so utterly away that there were no heated blazing ruins to
contend with. He also saw that he could do better by
making quite a wide circuit, as he thus avoided streets
choked by fugitives. Reaching a point near the river on
the west side of the fire, he climbed a high pile of lumber,
and then discovered to his horror that the fire had caught
in several places on the south side, and that the nearest
bridges were burning.

To those not familiar with the topography of the city,
it should be stated that it is separated by the Chicago
river, a slow, narrow stream, into three main divisions,
known as the south, north, and west sides.

By a triumph of engineering, the former mouth of this
river at the lake is now its source, the main stream being
turned back upon itself, and dividing into two branches
at a point little over half a mile from the lake, one flowing
to the southwest into the Illinois, and the other from the
northwest.

The south division includes all the territory between
the lake east of the south branch and south of the main
river. The north division includes the area between the
lake east of the north branch and north of the river;
while the west division embraces all that part of the city
west of the two branches. The fire originated in De
Koven Street, the southwestern part of the west side, and
it was carried steadily to the north and east, by an increasing
gale. The south side, with all its magnificent buildings,
was soon directly in the line of the fire.

When Dennis saw that the flames had crossed the
south branch, and were burning furiously beyond, he knew
that the best part of the city was threatened with destruction.
He hastened to the Washington Street tunnel,
where he found a vast throng, carrying all sorts of burdens,

rushing either way. He plunged in with the rest, and
soon found himself hustled hither and thither by a surging
mass of humanity. A little piping voice that seemed
under his feet cried:

“Oh, mamma! mamma! Where are you? I'm gettin'
lost.”

“Here I am, my child,” answered a voice some steps
in advance, and Dennis saw a lady carrying another child;
but the rushing tide would not let her wait, each one, in
the place where they were wedged, being carried right
along. Stooping down, he put the little girl on his shoulder
where she could see her mother, and so they pressed
on. Suddenly, in the very midst of the tunnel, by reason
of the destruction of the works, the gas all at once ceased,
and utter darkness filled the place.

There was a loud cry of consternation, and then a
momentary and dreadful silence, which would have been
the preface of a fatal panic, had not Dennis cried out in a
clarion voice:

“All keep to the right!”

This cry was taken up and repeated on every hand, and
side by side, to right and left, the two living streams of
humanity, with steady tramp! tramp! rushed past each
other.

When they emerged into the glare of the south side
Dennis gave the child to its mother and said: “Madam,
your only chance is to escape in that direction,” pointing
northwest.

He then tried to make his way to the hotel where Professor
and Mrs. Learned were staying, but it was in the
midst of an unapproachable sea of fire. If they had not
escaped some little time before, they had already perished.
He then tried to make his way to the windward, towards
his own room. His two thousand dollars and all he possessed

was there, and the instinct of self-preservation
caused him to think it was time to look after his own.
But progress was now very difficult. The streets were
choked by drays, carriages, furniture, trunks, and every degree
and condition of humanity. In addition to these impediments
his steps were often stayed by thrilling scenes,
and the need of a helping hand. In order to make his way
faster he took a street nearer the fire from which the people
had mostly been driven. As he was hurrying along with
his hat drawn over his eyes to avoid the sparks that were
driven about like fiery hail, he suddenly heard a piercing
shriek. Looking up he saw the figure of a woman at the
third story window of a fine mansion that was already burning,
though not so rapidly as those in the direct line of the
fire. He with a number of others stopped at the sound.

“Who will volunteer with me to save that woman?”
cried he.

“Wal, stranger, you can reckon on this old stager for
one,” answered a familiar voice.

Dennis turned and recognized his old friend, the Good
Samaritan.

“Why Cronk,” he cried, “don't you know me? Don't
you remember the young man you saved from starving by
suggesting the snow-shovel business?”

“Hollo! my young colt. How are you?—give us your
for foot. But come, don't let's stop to talk about snow in
this hell of a place with that young fully whinnying up
there.”

“Right!” cried Dennis. “Let us find a ladder and
rope; quick—”

At a paint-shop around the corner a ladder was found
that reached to the second story, and some one procured a
rope.

“A thousand dollars,” cried another familiar voice, “to
the man who saves that woman!”

Looking round, Dennis saw standing on a box near the
burly form of Mr. Brown, the brewer, his features distorted
by agony and fear, then glancing up he discovered in the
red glare upon her face that the woman was no other than
his daughter. She had come to spend the night with a
friend, and being a sound sleeper, had not escaped with the
rest of the family.

“Who wants yer thousand dollars?” replied Bill Cronk's
gruff voice. “Dy's spose we'd hang out here over the bottomless
pit for any such trifle as that? We want to save
the gal.”

Before Cronk was through his characteristic speech
Dennis was half way up the ladder. He entered the second
story only to be driven back by fire and smoke.

“A pole of some kind!” he cried.

The thills of a broken-down buggy supplied this, but
the flames had already reached Miss Brown. Being a girl
of a good deal of nerve and physical courage however, she
tore off her outer clothing with her own hands. Dennis
now handed her the rope on the end of the buggy-thill and
told her to fasten it to something in the room that would
support her weight, and lower herself to the second story.
She fastened it, but did not seem to know how to lower
herself. Dennis tried the rope, found it would sustain his
weight, then bringing into use an art learned in his college
gymnasium, he over-handed rapidly till he stood at Miss
Brown's side. Drawing up the rope he fastened her to it
and lowered her to the ladder, where Bill Cronk caught
her, and in a moment more she was in her father's arms,
who at once shielded her from exposure with his overcoat.
Dennis followed the rope down, and had hardly got
away before the building fell in.

“Is not this Mr. Fleet?” asked Miss Brown.

“Yes.”

“How can we ever repay you?”

“By learning to respect honest men, even though they
are not rich, Miss Brown.”

“Did you know who it was when you saved me?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Fleet, I sincerely ask your pardon.”

But before Dennis could reply they were compelled to
fly for their lives.

Mr. Brown shouted as he ran—“Call at the house or
place of business of Thomas Brown, and the money will be
ready.”

But Thomas Brown would have found it hard work
to rake a thousand dollars out of the ashes of either place
the following day. The riches in which he trusted had
taken wings.

Cronk and Dennis kept together for a short distance,
and the latter saw that his friend had been drinking.
Their steps led them near a large liquor-store which a
party of men and boys were sacking. One of these, half
intoxicated, handed Bill a bottle of whiskey, but as the
drover was lifting it to his lips, Dennis struck it to the
ground. Cronk was in a rage instantly.

“What the — did you do that for?” he growled.

“I would do that and more too, to save your life. If
you get drunk to-night you are a lost man,” answered
Dennis earnestly.

“Whose agoin' ter get drunk, I'd like ter know? You
feel yer oats too much to-night. No man or horse can
kick over the traces with me,” and he went off in the
unreasoning anger of a half-drunken man. But he carried
all his generous impulses with him, for a few minutes after,
seeing a man lying in a most dangerous position, he ran
up and shook him, crying:

“I say, stranger, get up, or yer ribs will soon be roasted.”

“Leon me 'lone,” was the maudlin answer. “I've had
drink 'nuff. 'Tain't mornin' yet.”

“Hi there!” cried a warning voice, and Cronk started
back just in time to escape a blazing wall that fell across the
street. The stupefied man he sought to arouse was hopelessly
buried. Cronk, having got out of danger, stood and
scratched his head, his favorite way of assisting reflection.

“That's just what that young critter Fleet meant. What
a cussed ole mule I was to kick up so. Ten chances to
one but it will happen to me afore mornin'. Look here,
Bill Cronk, you just pint out of this fiery furnace. You
know yer failin', and there's too long and black a score
agin you in tother world for you to go to-night,” and Bill
made a bee line for the west side.

Struggling off to windward through the choked streets
for a little distance, Dennis ascended the side stairs of a
tall building, in order to get more accurately the bearings
of the fire. He now for the first time realized its magnitude,
and was appalled. It appeared as if the whole south
side must go. At certain points the very heavens seemed
on fire. The sparks filled the air like flakes of fiery snow,
and great blazing fragments of roofs, and boards from lumber
yards, sailed over his head, with the ill-omened glare
of meteors. The rush and roar of the wind and flames was
like the thunder of Niagara, and to this awful monotone
accompaniment was added a Babel of sounds—shrieks, and
shouts of human voices, the sharp crash of falling buildings,
and ever and anon heavy detonations, as the fire
reached explosive material. As he looked down into the
white upturned faces in the thronged streets, it seemed to
him as if the people might be gathering for the last great
day. Above all the uproar, the court-house bell could be
heard, with its heavy, solemn clangor, no longer ringing
alarm, but the city's knell!

But he saw that if he reached his own little room in
time to save anything, he must hasten. His course lay
near the Art Building, the place so thronged with associations
to him. An irresistible impulse drew him to it. It
was evident that it must soon go, for an immense building
to the southwest, on the same block, was burning, and
the walls were already swaying.

Suddenly, a man rushed past him, and Mr. Ludolph
put his pass-key in the side door.

“Mr. Ludolph, it is not safe to enter,” said Dennis.

“What are you doing here with your ill-omened face?”
retorted his old employer, turning toward him a countenance
terrible in its expression. As we have seen, anything
that threatened Mr. Ludolph's interests, even that
which most men bow before, as sickness and disaster, only
awakened his anger; and his face was black with passion
and distorted with rage.

The door yielded and he passed in.

“Come back, quick, Mr. Ludolph, or you are lost!”
cried Dennis at the door.

“I will get certain papers, though the heavens fall!
yelled back the infuriated man, with an oath.

Dennis heard an awful rushing sound in the air. Be
drew his hat over his face as he ran, crouching. Hot bricks
rained around him, but fortunately he escaped.

When he turned to look, the Art Building was a crushed
and blazing ruin. Sweet girlish faces that had smiled upon
him from the walls, beautiful classical faces that had inspired
his artist soul, stern Roman faces, that had made
the past seem real, the human faces of gods and goddesses
that made mythology seem not wholly a myth, and the
white marble faces of the statuary, that ever reminded him
of Christine, he knew were now all blackened and defaced
forever. But not of these he thought, as he shudderingly

covered his eyes with his hands to shut out the vision;
but of that terrible face that in the darkness had yelled
defiance to heaven.