Thursday, July 7, 2022

Christmas Joy In Fire-Swept Chicago, 1871

Print by Currier and Ives; the view faces northeast across
the Randolf St. Bridge.

        The evening worship at the West Side Church had drawn to a close on that fateful day in the history of Chicago, Oct. 8,1871. The preacher had spoken to his audience of the instability and inadequacy of earthly possessions as sources of enduring happiness, and counseled them to seek it rather in cheerful work, unselfish love, and trust in the divine ordering of their lives. Little did he or his hearers dream how close at hand was the experience which was to justify his teaching. As minister and people left the church the fire-bells sounded an alarm, the heavens were red with flame and the streets filled with a wild rush of people. One of the most disastrous conflagrations of modern times had begun its devastating work. For months past the Northwest had experienced an excessively dry season, with only a quarter of its usual rainfall. The great and sprawling city, built chiefly of wood, and the enormous lumber piles in the western addition were like tinder which a spark might ignite. The overturning of a lamp by the kick of a willful cow in Widow O'Leary's shed - so runs the local tradition - sufficed to bring on the terrible calamity. All night the fire raged and nearly all next day, crossing the river, leaping with tongues of flame over whole blocks of buildings, and with incredible rapidity converting nearly all the public edifices, railway stations, churches, hotels, banks and warehouses of the city, together with their contents, into dust and ashes. Thousands of homes, of the rich as well as the poor, were burned to the ground. Seventeen thousand buildings in all, covering an area four miles long by one and a half wide, and two hundred millions of property were destroyed. A hundred thousand people, many of whom lost all their earthly possessions, were driven into the streets, while over two hundred lost their lives. By blowing up with gunpowder rows of wooden houses, the fire was finally stayed on the south side of the city, and exhausted itself on the north by burning up all there was to feed it. The west side was saved by the direction of the wind. Eastward, Lake Michigan extended, and standing for hours in its waters, thousands found protection from the intense heat and flying sparks and cinders. It was an awful experience for those who passed through it, and impressively taught the folly of setting one's heart on earthly treasures that perish.
       The young minister, he was in his twenty seventh year and serving his first parish, turned anxiously homeward that eventful night, whose calamitous character he did not as yet realize. He was excessively tired. It had been his third preaching service that Sunday. In the morning he had conducted the worship for his own congregation, a missionary undertaking on the south side of the city. In the afternoon he had preached in the suburb of Hyde Park to a newly gathered flock. This involved buggy-rides of ten miles across the prairie. And now in the evening, in the absence of its pastor, he had ministered to the society on the west side of the city. As he jolted homewards wearily in the crowded horse-car, the incessant clanging of the fire-bells, the clatter of hurrying fire engines and the rush of people speeding to the conflagration gave increasing evidence of the gravity of the impending disaster. Throwing himself, on his arrival at home, exhausted on his bed, he found sleep impossible. The glare of the fire, the shouting and running without, anxiety for his brother, a young engineer, who had gone into the heart of the city to help save the records and papers of the railroad of which he was an employee, soon drove the minister out into the streets, and made him an awestruck witness, and, so far as he could be, a fighter of the fire. It was a fearful, never-to-be-forgotten spectacle to see high structures, loaded to the roof with valuable merchandise, come crashing down to the trembling ground; to behold soaring church-spires wreathed in flame, totter and fall in crumbling ruin; whole rows of handsome residences converted in an instant into a seething furnace; to breathe the hot air filled with flying cinders and choking dust, and to note, amid the din of falling buildings, the howling hurricane of the wind and the crackle and roar of the flames, the impressive silence of the people, fleeing in multitudes from the fury of the elements, or struggling in groups to arrest the progress of the fire. 
       By command of the Mayor, an efficient leader, whole rows of dwellings were blown up and the progress of the flame on the south stayed. The minister's home and the homes of his parishioners were saved. But the business and professional activities of the latter were involved in the common ruin. His missing brother returned safely, though badly burned on face and hands. He had succeeded, almost single-handed, in saving the valuable papers in the office of the company, loading them into a train of freight cars to be hauled out of the fire-zone. But when he came out of the burning building with the last armful of valuables the train had sped on without him, and he had to seek the waters of the lake for safety. Here, alternately chilled and burned, he fought off the flames for hours until at length, with dawning day, he contrived, with others, to reach and crawl along the narrow stone and timber breakwater which stretched for miles along the Lake Front, and which now furnished their way of escape. 
       The next days and weeks brought many opportunities for service to the minister. After assuring himself as well as he could in the general confusion which prevailed that the members of his own society were safe and did not require his ministrations, his thoughts went out to others dear to him, especially to his fatherly friend and elder brother in the faith, Rev. Robert Collyer, the poet-preacher of Unity Church, on the north side. His splendid new church, only recently erected, lay in ruins, his home and the homes of his parishioners were destroyed, and he himself and his family were fugitives. But where they had found shelter no one was able to tell. 
       In response to the piteous appeal of a hundred thousand unsheltered, hungering people, there now arose throughout the nation and the world a movement of human sympathy and charitable relief such as never before had been known in the annals of mankind, making the page of history to shine with its record of goodwill and generosity. Millions of hearts were enlisted, millions of dollars raised, millions of gifts forwarded to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, clothe the naked, and rebuild the stricken city. It is said that when subjected to intense heat the design and lettering of a worn and defaced coin will appear again on its surface. So in the furnace heats of that great affliction the pure gold of human nature, the divine image and superscription stamped upon it, oft hidden from sight by man's preoccupation with external and selfish concerns, came into beautiful relief, disclosing the intrinsic nobility of the human heart. And this nobility was displayed equally by those who gave and those who administered these gifts of love. 
       The first consignment of food for the hungering multitude came from Detroit and intervening Michigan communities. At early dawn on Tuesday morning a party of prominent Chicagoans, Marshall Field, George M. Pullman, Wirt Dexter, Edson Keith, Mayor Mason, Murry Nelson, William H. Doggett, C. H. S. Mixer, Byron P. Moulton - to mention only those whom the writer recalls - together with two or three clergymen, Revs. Robert Laird Collier, William H. Ryder, and the one who tells this story, assembled at a local freight station on 6th Street to unload a train of freight cars, which had just rolled in from Michigan, filled with provisions for the sufferers. The city having been declared under martial law, Mayor Mason had commandeered a number of covered wagons which were backed up against the high platform. Barrels of crackers, cheeses, cooked hams, loaves of bread fresh from the farmers' ovens, cans of milk, and many other supplies were unloaded by this group of serious and hardworking men who, neglecting their own pressing affairs, toiled in the chill air that gray morning for their impoverished and suffering brothers. When the first wagon had been sufficiently filled with supplies, Dr. Laird Collier, pastor of the First Unitarian Church, took a seat beside its driver, declaring that he wanted the honor of dispensing the first load of provisions to the hungry people. Desiring to share in that privilege, the present writer leaped in behind, found a seat on a cheese-box, and they drove away on their errand of mercy. It was a long, hard journey over the rough streets, filled with debris, to the West Side, and thence northward, until they reached the sole remaining bridge that gave access to the stricken north division of the city. At length the wagon drove up to its destination, Dearborn Park, around which were grouped the ruins of Unity Church, the New England Church, and the Roman Catholic Church of the Holy Name, and the Ogden home, the single surviving house which, though of wood, by a combination of circumstances had escaped the flames. Here was encountered a swarming multitude of unhoused and hungry people, who had returned from their flight to seek food and shelter, and in many cases also for members of their family from whom they had been separated in that wild night of disaster. To justly distribute the supplies to the horde of eager applicants that gathered round them was no easy matter. They were asked in their own interest to assist the committee. Out of the midst of the crowd two men came forward, the one a well known priest of the adjacent Catholic Church, the other the Rabbi of a Jewish congregation. With their help the task of distribution was made easier. It was delightful to see how in this hour of supreme need all sectarian differences were forgotten. The Priest held a ham from which the Rabbi cut slices for the hungry poor, quite unmindful of the Old Testament injunction against the forbidden swine's-flesh, while the Protestant ministers, dispensing the bread consecrated by human love to their needy brethren, felt that it was a sacramental act whose validity no one could impeach. Their common calamity and sorrow made them all one in faith, hope, and the charity that is greatest of all. It was a beautiful prophecy of the better time coming when religious men and women will rise above the differing intellectual opinions and ritual observances which now divide, and often embitter them, into the higher recognition of the common human interests of mankind; when all men shall be united into one great family, children of the All-Father.
       Inquiries were diligently made concerning the whereabouts of Robert Collyer, and it was learned that after battling hard, but in vain, to save his church, he had fled with his family to the house of friends, somewhere in the suburbs north of Chicago. 
        The next day, after a conference with the unselfish and good mother who was his housekeeper, companion and best friend, the young minister devised a plan to bring his friend, Robert Collyer, together with his family, to his own comfortable and commodious dwelling for such a stay as might seem best to them. How to reach and transport them and their necessary belongings was the next question. All interior lines of communication had been destroyed. Horses and teams were unobtainable except at fabulous prices. But good will found a way. Far on the prairie a neighbor had turned out an aged horse to rest and die. Another neighbor had a creaking, dilapidated buggy and a set of harness that might be patched up with rope ends for temporary service. The minister walked out to the pasture early in the morning, and contrived to approach the venerable steed, slip a halter over his neck and bring him triumphantly home. He was harnessed into the ramshackle old buggy, whose springs sagged and bumped portentously, and the journey was begun. On the way the minister stopped at the First Church to inform its pastor. Rev. R. Laird Collier, of his purpose, and ask if any more recent news had reached him concerning their fellow clergyman. The First Church presented that morning a novel and gratifying spectacle. Like other remaining public buildings it was in use as a refuge for the homeless people. Its pews were converted into beds. Here hundreds found protection from the cold night air. In the basement food was provided for them. Dr. Collier, with a committee of citizens, was already engaged in the work of relieving the distressed in which he rendered admirable service during the hard winter that followed. Impulsive as he was he at once volunteered to go with his young brother on the search for Robert Collyer. It was a slow and wearisome journey. The decrepit and stiff-legged old horse, the crowded thoroughfares, the repeated and often fruitless inquiries, made it late in the day when at last the modest cottage was reached where their friends had found shelter. As they entered, Robert Collyer, with face and eyes inflamed from his brave fight with the fire, came forward in amazement and joy to meet them. Falling upon their necks, he sobbed: "God bless you, brethren, for coming! My beautiful church, the delight of my eyes, is gone. My dear people are scattered, I know not where!" They strove to comfort and reassure him. Seeing in a corner a small pile of Mr. Collyer's manuscript sermons which a young parishioner had rescued from his study at the last moment, the younger minister said sorrowfully: "To think of all your fine sermons that have gone up in flame!" "Never mind about them, laddie," was the cheery reply. "I've got the place left where they came from, and with God's help there'll be many more!" And there were. 
       After a conference together, it was arranged that for the time being Collyer and his wife and the children should make the house of his young colleague their home. Mrs. Collyer, and a younger daughter, with a trunk full of necessaries, so weighed down the conveyance that brother Laird had to walk home. The rest of the Collyer family followed the next day. The poor exhausted nag contrived to crawl late that evening to the door of the young minister's house; the last service he rendered on earth, and a noble one.    
       There was great jubilation next day when the reunited family met once more in their new ark of safety. Robert Collyer's heart was cheered by letters and telegrams from friends and reassuring visits from his parishioners. One generous layman in Boston, Hon. William Gray, assumed his entire salary for the coming year, that he might be free to devote all his powers to his church and city. 
       The next Sunday morning the scattered members of Unity Church met in the ruins of their temple for reunion and worship. Standing within its roofless nave and blackened walls, their pastor voiced their sorrow, and cheered their hearts by foretelling the speedy restoration of their church home. His young brother met his own congregation, and preached to them on the text, "The Voice of the Eternal Crieth Unto the City," - enforcing the lessons of the fire. For the remainder of that bleak winter the two ministers and their congregations, uniting with their Universalist friends, held joint services in Murray Chapel, the pretty edifice of the latter. 
        More and more the young minister's home, happily spared for such service, became a centre of hospitalities and relief operations. Hither came many guests, but none more welcome than Edward Everett Hale, inspirer and helper of men. It was he who, when the citizens of Boston met in historic Faneuil Hall to consider the sending of relief to stricken Chicago, leaped on the platform, and in an address of wonderful power and pathos moved all hearts and assured a generous response to the appeal. Ten days after the great fire, a group of earnest men, representative citizens of Chicago, assembled in the minister's study to meet a committee sent out by the Boston Young Men's Christian Union to ascertain what service the latter might render the stricken city. The committee was headed by the public-spirited and energetic president of the Union, William H. Baldwin, whom Phillips Brooks once called "Boston's most useful citizen." After looking over the field the committee came to the conclusion that the speedy rebuilding of Chicago in even greater splendor was assured, and that the physical wants of the burnt-out families would be amply met by the world's bounty. It was the educational, social, and religious needs of the young community which most called for attention and help. The committee therefore advised that, as one step in this direction, a Young Men's Christian Union be organized in Chicago, modeled after the Boston Union, to care for the thousands of young men, clerks, book-keepers, students, mechanics and apprentices, whom the fire had deprived of their home associations and social and educational resources. Such a place of evening resort, recreation, and self-improvement was urgently needed. Mr. Baldwin promised that the Boston Society would aid in fostering such an enterprise in Chicago, and would make it the agency for distributing the large benevolences which they had in mind for Chicago during the coming winter. The present meeting had been called to consider and act upon this suggestion.
       It was an interesting and striking occasion. The room in which they met was dimly lighted with tallow candles set in high-necked bottles, the City gas supply not yet having been restored. The only refreshment was Lake Michigan water, brought from the lake-side that afternoon in a wash-boiler by the minister and his brother, the City Water Works being still out of commission. But the spirit of the meeting was effervescent, and the discussion by Revs. Robert Collyer and R. Laird Collier, and David Gage, Eli Bates, B. P. Moulton, and others of Chicago, was sufficiently illuminating. It was decided unanimously to inaugurate such a movement. The young minister, who had been an active member of the Boston Union in his earlier days, was chosen as its Secretary, and, as far as his church duties would permit, its organizer. His house was made the temporary headquarters of the movement. Dr. E. E. Hale's famous dictum, which, he once told the writer, was simply Paul's word "Faith, hope and charity" transposed into the modern vernacular, was adopted as the motto of the Chicago Union:
  
  "Look up, and not down.
 Look out, and not in,
 Look forward, and not back,
 And lend a hand." 

        Thus humbly began an unsectarian philanthropy which for forty years and more occupied an honorable place in the educational and religious life of the great western metropolis.  In its study classes and lectures, its gymnasium and clubs, tens of thousands of young people - for its scope was soon enlarged by admitting young women also to its membership - have found educational and social opportunities. Under the name which, with no advantage to its work, it later assumed. The Chicago Atheneum, it still carries on the tradition of its earlier years. And now, in fulfillment of its promise, many boxes, barrels and bales containing clothing, bedding and hospital supplies, began to arrive from the Boston Young Men's Christian Union. Dumped in solid rows around the minister's house, they soon compelled him to secure more suitable quarters for their storage and distribution. Committees of benevolently disposed men and women were organized to superintend the latter, and toiled unselfishly and hard all winter. In all over one thousand boxes and bales, containing over 150,000 counted articles forwarded by the Boston Union, were efficiently handled by its sister society in Chicago, and relieved the immediate necessities of more than 10,000 needy persons. It would be pleasant to narrate some of the interesting and moving incidents of this benevolent activity, which relieved with touches of human kindness the bitter cold and misery of that bleak winter, the appalling spectacle of the ruined and desolate city, dimly lighted and deserted at night, and chaotic with noise and confusion by day, as slowly but surely Chicago arose in new solidity and beauty. 
       But we must confine ourselves to the most delightful episode of it all. In November there came to the minister's house a party consisting of Revs. S. H. Winkley and Henry W. Foote, and Messrs. William H. Baldwin and H. H. Sprague of Boston. Before they departed they asked their host to name some one thing that they might recommend on their return to the children of their Sunday schools as their special work for the destitute children of Chicago. This gave the minister the opportunity he had been longing for to assure a happy Christmas to the desolated homes of the poor of the city. He asked them to send the Chicago Christian Union gifts suitable for a Christmas distribution to the destitute children of the city, without regard to creed, sect or nationality. 
        Immediately on their return the Boston committee set about the matter. Appeals were made to New England pastors and parishes, circulars were sent out, the newspapers enlisted - Gail Hamilton, editor of Our Young Folks, making an especially effective plea - the children were set at work, and soon the result became apparent in a steady stream of gifts that filled to overflowing the parlors of the Boston Young Men's Christian Union, which had offered to pack and forward the contributions. The appeal antedated the Christmas festival by so few weeks that there was hardly time for it to be generally known and acted upon. Yet the response was most gratifying, far exceeding anticipations. Over sixty cases in all were sent to the Chicago Union, often accompanied by letters whose graciousness made the gifts still more acceptable. Some seventy Sunday schools, nearly all of Unitarian Church connection, and many individual givers, contributed to make this result possible. 
        In the meantime the Chicago Society prepared for the work of distributing the gifts. Day after day the Christmas boxes arrived, to be eagerly opened and delightedly examined by the committee of ladies, belonging to different denominations, including the Roman Catholic and Jewish, who were charged with their distribution. The writer recalls Madam Jane S. Wendte, Mesdames David A. Gage, George M. Pullman, Henry Booth, Oscar Safford and C. A. Staples, and the Misses Roberts, Lunt, Agnew, Annie Laurie, and last, but not least, Miss Jessie Bross, afterwards Mrs. Henry D. Lloyd. The contents of the boxes were sorted and piled up around the walls and stacked in the center of the Union parlors until the latter looked like a big toy shop. Every token of affectionate remembrance suitable for Christmas was represented. Books for juveniles and older people, dolls in myriads, fancy boxes, games in profusion, savings banks, toys in endless variety, Noah's arks, baby houses, toy dishes, drums, trumpets, pocket- books, ornaments, clothing - it is impossible to tell here all the potential joy for childhood that was contained in the 10,000 or more articles which had been sent by the kindhearted boys and girls of New England to their little brothers and sisters in fire-stricken Chicago. 
        Invitations were issued to the officers of Sunday schools which had been victims of the fire to hand in lists of their children, together with their ages, in order that suitable presents might be selected for them, and they were asked to call and obtain their allotment for distribution at their own school festivals. They were not slow in responding, and many a grateful word was spoken by pastors and superintendents in recognition of the Christ-like spirit which had prompted all this holiday giving. Presbyterian and Methodist, Unitarian and Universalist, Congregational and Baptist, Lutheran and Episcopal, Colored, Swedish and German schools, orphan asylums, and Catholic and Jewish families shared in this Christmas beneficence, which gave to eight thousand children in Chicago a Happy Christmas, and transformed what would have been to many a dreary anniversary into a festival of light and joy. 
        But why must we wait for such great calamities to teach us the blessedness of giving? Why should not every day be Christmas day in our homes and hearts? That is the theme of the little carol which is printed beneath this account of happy days and doings in the midst of devastation and misery nearly fifty years ago. Let us take its lesson to heart, and thus display the spirit of him whose birthday we celebrate at Christmas, and who told us: "By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." C.W.Wendte


The Fire Begins: Above and Investigating the Cause of the Fire,

Christmas In Chicago Now:

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