Never had Portland looked more beautiful than when the sunrise-gun
boomed across the waters, announcing the ninetieth anniversary of our
independence. The sun, which on another day should look down on the
city's desolation, rose unclouded over the houses, that stood forth from
the foliage of the embowering elms, or nestled in their shadow; over the
quaintness of the old-fashioned churches and the beauty of the more
modern temples; over the stately public edifices, and the streets
everywhere decked with flags and thronged with crowds of happy,
well-dressed people. Of course, the popular satisfaction expressed
itself in the report of pistols, guns, and fire-crackers; and all
through the day the usual amusements went on, and in the afternoon
almost everybody was on the street.
A few minutes before five o'clock, when the festivity was at its
wildest, the alarm of fire rang out. Every circumstance was favorable
for a conflagration,--the people scattered, the city dry and heated by a
July sun, and a high southwesterly wind blowing. It needed only the
exciting cause in the shape of a fire-cracker, and lo! half the city was
doomed.
My youngest brother, at the first sound of the bell, came and begged me
to take him to the fire; so I went, to please him. Poor child! I little
thought that by twelve o'clock at night there would be no place at home
to lay the little head.
We found the fire near Brown's sugar-house, where there was a large
crowd already assembled. But, though the smoke and masses of flame were
rising only from one house, the wind was blowing a perfect gale; and a
foreboding of the calamity impending seemed to possess the spectators.
There was none of the usual noise, and men appeared to look at the
burning house with a feeling of awe. We did not stop there at all; and
some idea of the rapid progress of the fire may be gathered from the
fact, that about four squares distant, where, on the way up, we could
see one fire, on our return we saw three,--two lighted by sparks from
the first. We slowly retraced our way, and met people on every side
quickening their steps in the direction of the fire.
About seven o'clock, mother and I thought it would be wise to pack up
our silver and valuables; for it seemed as if we were directly in the
path of the conflagration. Down Fore Street, and from Fore to Free, it
was rushing on. The southwestern heavens were entirely shut from our
view by the flames and smoke; cinders, ashes, and blazing embers were
falling like rain down Middle Street, and across to Congress, as far as
the eye could see. The scene was terrible; but it was soon surpassed in
fearfulness, for the work of desolation was not half completed. The
Irish population were the chief sufferers up to this hour. It was
heart-rending to see the women rushing hither and thither, trying to
save their few possessions. Here, a poor creature was dragging a
mattress, followed by several little crying children, her face the
picture of despair; there, another, with her family, stood over the
remnants of her scanty stock. A poor woman, who was in the habit of
working for us, lived near the corner of Cross and Fore Streets. She had
five children and a sick husband to care for. Almost all her energies
were bent in getting them to a place of safety; and the few little
things which she succeeded in rescuing from the flames were afterwards
stolen from her by some one of the many wretches who gathered the spoils
that awful night.
It soon became evident that we must decide upon some plan of action, in
case it should come to the worst. We had two married sisters,--one
living in India Street, the other at the west end of the city. As the
former had no family, and was alone, even her husband being away, and as
the latter had three children, and a house full of company, we decided
that, if we must move, it should be to India Street. We sent off one
team, and my youngest brother with it, before the fire was anywhere near
us; and then, while my two little sisters assisted mother in getting
things together, I worked with my brother and cousin, hanging wet
blankets against the walls, pouring water on the roof, and taking other
precautionary measures. But all was useless. On came the fire with a
steady sweep. We saw that it was idle to combat it longer, and turned
all our energies to saving what we could. Our home was to be ours no
longer. The dear old roof-tree, under which had assembled so many loved
ones, now gone forever,--where the eyes of all our home circle first saw
the light of life,--where three of that number closed theirs in
death,--the centre of the hopes and joys of a lifetime,--was to be
abandoned to the flames. It was like tearing our heart-strings to leave
it so; but there was no time for lingering. With streaming eyes and
aching hearts we started out, taking what we could in our hands. There
was by this time no vehicle to be obtained in which we could ride; and,
supporting my mother, my sisters clinging to us in silent terror, we
were borne along with the crowd down Middle Street to India. I cannot
remember any incidents of that walk. The hurrying throng around me, the
flying sparks, and the roar of the engines, seem like the confusion of a
dream.
Our sister, who met us at the door, felt perfectly secure, and had done
nothing towards packing. I gave her an account of our proceedings,
thinking each moment of some precious thing I might have brought away.
We went to the front door, and looked out on the scene before us. The
fire seemed to come on the wings of the wind. Middle Street was ablaze;
Wood's marble hotel was in flames, together with the beautiful dwelling
opposite. The fire leaped from house to house, and, if for a moment
checked, it was but to rush on in wilder fury. Churches, one by one,
were seized by the flame, and crumbled into ruin before it. No human
power could arrest its fierce progress. In vain the firemen put forth a
strength almost superhuman: their exertions seemed but to add to its
fury. Explosion after explosion gave greater terror to the scene:
buildings were successively blown up in the useless effort to bar its
pathway; the fire leaped the chasm and sped on. Fugitives of every age
and condition were hurrying through the streets, laden with everything
imaginable,--especially looking-glasses, which seem the one important
thing to be saved during a fire. My brother and cousin had not yet made
their appearance, nor had we seen anything of my brother-in-law, from
the other end of the city. But we knew they must be at their places of
business, which were now in the heart of the burning district. Swiftly
the destruction hurried towards us; and people were now seen bringing in
their goods and seeking shelter on our premises. O what heart-broken
faces surrounded us that fearful night! Friends, and people we had never
seen, alike threw themselves on our kindness; and I must say that a
spirit of humanity and good-will seemed everywhere prevalent among the
citizens. We were now ourselves tortured by suspense. Could we escape,
or should we again have to seek refuge from the flames? Surely the work
of destruction would stop before it reached India Street? The hot breath
of the maddening fire, and its lurid glare, were the only response. O,
if the wind would only change! But a vane, glistening like gold in the
firelight, steadfastly pointed to the southeast. For one moment it
veered, and our hearts almost stood still with hope; but it swung back,
and a feeling of despair settled upon us.
Our house was full. One poor lady, with a little baby only a week old,
lay on a sofa in one of the rooms; near her, bent over in a
rocking-chair, sat an old woman who had not been out of her house for
five years, with a look of hopeless bewilderment on her wrinkled face.
But people were now beginning to move from our house. India Street was
almost blocked up. Every kind of vehicle that went upon wheels, from a
barouche to a wheelbarrow, passed by laden with furniture.
At this moment my brother and brother-in-law approached, blackened
almost beyond recognition. It was not until C---- spoke that I really
knew him.
"We must be calm and collected, and save what we can. John is trying to
get a team to carry mother up to L----'s; the rest of us will have to go
to the graveyard. But John may not be successful, so you stay here, and
see if you can get any one to take mother: they may do it for you, when
they wouldn't for a man."
I stood on the edge of the sidewalk, clinging to the horse-post, and
appealed in vain to wagons going by.
"_Won't_ you take a lady and children away from here?"
"I _can't_, ma'am, not if you was to give me twenty-five dollars,--not
if you was to give me five hundred. I'm taking a load for a gentleman
now."
So it was in every case. Very many were worse off than we were,--had not
even a man to help. One well-known citizen was appealed to for help, in
the early part of the evening, by a poor woman,--a sort of dependant of
his family. He took her and her daughter, with their effects, outside
the city, and returned to find India Street on fire and no means of
getting through the crowd to his house, which was burned, with all that
was not saved by the exertions of his wife. They had visiting them a
lady whose child lay dead in the house, awaiting burial. The mother took
the little corpse in her arms and carried it herself up to the other end
of the city!
While I was making these vain attempts, John drove up in a light,
open-topped buggy. We hurriedly got mother and E---- into it, and gave
into their charge the jewelry and silver, and they drove away. I could
not but tremble for their safety. The road seemed impassable, so dense
was the struggling crowd. On every side the fire was raging. Looking up
India Street it was one sheet of flame, and equally so before us. It
looked like a world on fire, for we could see no smoke,--it was too near
for that,--and the heat was terribly intense.
There was no time to be lost. Both our servants and M----'s were away
spending the Fourth, so we had to depend entirely on ourselves. Our
back fence was soon torn down, and we all worked as we never had before.
We saved a good deal, but not one half of what we brought from our house
in the first place. We had thrown things out of the window, and C----
and J---- worked hard dragging them out of the yard, until, scorched and
almost suffocated, they were compelled to desist. The flames were upon
us so quickly, it seemed incredible that they could have seized the
house so soon after we thought we were in danger.
"Thank God, we are all safe!" cried M----, sinking upon the ground in
the graveyard, where we took refuge. She tried to look cheerful; but the
sight before her--her house in flames--and the thought of her husband's
absence overcame her, and she burst into tears. I laid the two little
girls upon the grass; and, wearied out, they soon fell asleep. It was a
strange scene in that quiet old cemetery, where the dead of more than a
century had lain undisturbed in their graves. Where only the reverent
tread of the mourner, or of some visitor carefully threading his way
among the grassy mounds, was wont to be known, crowds of frantic people
were hurrying across; while here and there were family groups clustered
together, watching the destruction of their property.
How long the remaining hours seemed! Would the daylight never come? The
children slept on, and we four talked in low tones of the morrow.
At length, faint, rosy lights began to streak the eastern horizon, and
slowly the day dawned. The sun rose unclouded above the hills, sending
down his beams upon the desolation which the night had wrought, lighting
up the islands and the blue waters, flecked with sail-boats.
Not less welcome to us, J---- now also appeared,--with a hay-cart, whose
driver he had engaged to come and remove us. Our goods were put into it;
we took our places among them, and, as soon as the tardy oxen could
carry us, were safe in my sister's house, living over again in words
that fearful night, and relating to each other some of those incidents
of the fire which can never all be told. A little friend of ours, when
leaving her home, took in her arms her doll, nearly as large as herself;
obliged to flee a second time, her mother told her it was useless to try
and save the doll, and she must leave it there. With many tears she laid
it on the sofa, feeling, no doubt, as if she were leaving a human being
to be burnt. The next day, a friend brought to her the identical dolly,
which had been found in the graveyard! The little one's joy may be
imagined.
One of the women in the Irish quarter picked up her big pig in her arms
and carried it to a place of safety, then returned to take care of her
children and furniture. A woman went by our house in the early part of
the evening bent nearly double beneath the weight of a trunk strapped
upon her back. We saw women that night with loads under which almost any
man would have staggered in ordinary circumstances.
Before we were supposed to be in danger, I walked out with a young
friend to see what progress the fire was making. At a corner we observed
a woman with a child about eight years old, talking, in great agitation,
to a lady, and evidently urging her to accede to some request. My
companion suggested that we should see if we could aid her in any way.
As we approached, the lady had taken the child by the hand, with the
words, "What is your address?" which was given. We inquired if we could
be of any service. "No, thank you," was the reply. "I asked that lady to
take care of my daughter. I keep store on that street over there. My
husband is out of town, and I don't know what I shall do!"--and,
wringing her hands, she hurried away. I have wondered since what was the
fate of the little girl thus intrusted to the care of strangers; for the
lady went in the direction, afterwards swept by the fire.
One family, whose house the flames did not reach until near two o'clock
in the morning, behaved with great coolness. The head of the household
lay ill. It was their first care to provide for him. Then they went
deliberately about, gathering up their valuables, taking just what they
wanted. They secured a wagon to carry away their things. Their house,
meanwhile, had been full of refugees from the flames. One of the young
ladies, going for the last time through the deserted rooms, found, on a
sofa in the parlor, a sick woman, utterly unable to move. At first, she
felt almost in despair at sight of this poor creature, so near meeting a
fearful fate. But quickly recovering her presence of mind, she called in
men from the street, and, by their united efforts, they carried her out,
and forced a passing wagon to take her to a safe place. A young lady,
who lived at a little distance from this family, was spending the night
at the other end of the city. They sat up till half past twelve, and she
was then in the act of retiring, never dreaming that her home was in
danger, when a loaded wagon stopped at the door, and out stepped her
sister and child. She went back in the same vehicle, and worked till
twelve the next day, getting things out of the house, collecting and
guarding them till they could be removed.
There was, of course, the usual difference shown amongst people in such
circumstances,--energy and coolness contrasted with imbecility and
frantic excitement. A friend who moved three times, with her husband so
ill that he had to be carried from place to place, never once forgot to
administer his medicine at regular intervals,--with a steady hand
pouring out the drops by the light of the fire.
A gentleman was carrying some of his books, preceded by an assistant,
who also had his arms full. The latter walked so rapidly that his
employer could not keep up with him. He called upon him to slacken his
pace; but, as no attention was paid to this, the gentleman dropped his
books upon the ground, and, running forward, knocked him down,
determined to be obeyed, fire or no fire.
But all were not so cool. One man, seeing the flames advancing in the
direction of his house, rushed thither to save his property. He worked
with might and main, but, when the house was nearly emptied, became
aware of the fact that it was his neighbor's. By this time his own
dwelling was on fire, from which he saved scarcely anything. I know one
person who passed through his hall perfectly empty-handed, while all
around him were bundles and boxes, which were consumed in the fire;
another walked out of his house with a package of envelopes in his hand,
leaving, close by, an article worth thirty dollars.
I must mention one of many instances of unselfishness that came under my
observation. A gentleman was comfortably established in a house which he
had recently bought and furnished, expecting there to enjoy the
pleasures of a home. One half of the house he had rented; but the
husband of the woman to whom it was let was not in town. Their dwelling
shared the fate of those around them, being burnt. He first set to work
to save his own things; but, struck by the forlorn condition of his
tenant, he did his best to save her effects, even to the detriment of
his own; for when they were examined, the greater portion of them was
found to be hers. Time has not exhausted the truth and beauty of the
saying, that "in the night the stars shine forth," and the stars did not
pale even in the terrible light of the fire that consumed half a city.