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