by Al Lacy
“Sorry, honey,” Katie said to Dinah, “I have to go back to the house and get some more salt.”
She set the lantern in a corner on fresh straw she’d placed there that morning. “Be right back, Dinah.”
The cow chewed her cud placidly as she gave Katie a slight glance and swished her tail.
Katie walked slowly through the darkness toward the glowing windows of the house. As she stepped up on the porch, she heard her children laughing and shouting at each other. What greeted her when she entered the kitchen immediately ignited her anger.
Ryan and Amy had the flour bin open and were throwing hand-fills of it at each other.
“Ryan! Amy! Stop it!”
At the sound of their mother’s voice, the children’s laughter stopped abruptly, and they stared at her wide-eyed.
“Look at this!” Katie said, tossing the salt sack on the table and stomping to where the sobered children stood. “You’ve got flour all over yourselves and all over the floor!”
“Ryan started it,” Amy said. “I was drawing a picture at the table, and he snuck up and dropped flour on my head.”
“I was only playing a little trick on her, Mama. I didn’t mean—”
“You both know better than to act like this,” Katie said.
Both children were spanked, cleaned up, and sent to their room.
“I’ll come up to check on you in a few minutes,” Katie said, then began mopping the floor. Next she took the sack of salt from the pantry and poured about half of it into the smaller sack. She left the sack on the small table beside the back door and mounted the stairs. As she walked down the hall, she could hear the wind beating against the sides of the house. There had been only a breeze when she’d come to the house for salt.
The lantern in the children’s room was turned down to a low flame, and both Ryan and Amy were in their beds, sniffling quietly.
“Well, how about it?” Katie said, standing between the two beds. “Did you two do wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Ryan said. “I shouldn’t have put the flour on Amy’s head. And I shouldn’t have gotten it all over the kitchen. Please forgive me.”
Katie nodded, then set her piercing gaze on the five-year-old.
Amy sniffled and said, “I’m sorry, too, Mama. I was bad. Please forgive me.”
Katie immediately told them they were forgiven, and tucked them in with hugs and kisses. While the wind slapped at the bed-room window, she talked about avoiding spankings by thinking about the things they were tempted to do before they actually did them. When they knew that what they were tempted to do was wrong, they should make the proper decision and not do it.
Soon their bright eyes were drooping, heavy with sleep. Katie kissed them again and settled the colorful quilts up close under their chins.
Ryan and Amy were asleep almost instantly. Katie looked down at their sweet faces, so innocent in slumber. She blew out the lantern, then paused at the door to look back at them. She moved her lips silently, saying, I love you, then released a small satisfied sigh and headed down the hall.
As Katie descended the stairs, she noticed an orange glow through the windows on both sides of the house. When she reached the first floor, she pulled the curtains back and saw that the back side of the O’Malleys’ house was aglow, as were both yards.
She dashed through the kitchen and out onto the back porch, sucking in a sharp breath as she saw that her barn was engulfed in a massive ball of wind-fanned flames.
A scream wrenched itself from her lips, and she turned toward the O’Malley house. There were no lights in the windows.
Katie screamed as she ran toward the neighbors house on the other side. The back door opened, and Brian Joyce stepped out, his eyes fixed on the blazing barn.
“Help me, Brian!” Katie cried. “My house will catch fire if we don’t soak it down!”
Brian Joyce turned to his teenage son, who was on the porch with Mrs. Joyce. “Jonathan! Run and get the other neighbors! Quick!”
The wind caught sparks from burning hay and timber, hurling them in three directions.
In no more than a minute, neighbors were swarming all over the yard, many with buckets. There were shouts and cries as they began dipping water from neighbor’s stock tanks and throwing it on the back of the O’Leary house.
Some began dousing the Joyces’ house and the O’Malleys’.
Ryan and Amy had been awakened by the commotion and stood at their upstairs window, trying to see what was on fire.
Amy began to cry.
In the Courthouse Tower downtown, Nate Canton had spotted the flames on the west side and was alerting Company Six with his telegraph key.
At the Little Giant firehouse, the horses were being hitched to the wagons when one of Patrick O’Learys neighbors came running in, saying breathlessly, “Pat! The fire is at your place! It’s your barn!”
O’Learys face lost color. “My barn! How about the house?”
“Bunch of the neighbors are dousing it right now.”
“How about Katie and the kids?”
“Katie’s the one who spotted the fire. Just as I took off to run over here I saw her dash back into the house.”
When Katie topped the stairs, her children were standing at the door of their room. Ryan had his arm around his little sister, trying to comfort her.
Brian Joyce was on Katie’s heels. “Don’t be afraid, Ryan…Amy,” he said.
“What’s on fire, Mama?”
“It’s our barn, honey. Mr. Joyce has come to help me take you outside.”
“Is our house going to burn down, Mama?” Amy asked, sniffling.
“The neighbors are soaking it with water,” Katie said. “That should keep it from catching fire. But just in case, we need to go outside.”
Joyce hefted Ryan into his arms, and Katie took Amy. They hurried down the stairs and out into the smoke-filled night. Joyce planted Ryan next to his mother and ran back to join in the bucket brigade. Katie pulled her children close and fervently thanked God for their safety.
Other women drew up to Katie, offering encouragement. The O’Learys’ other four cows and their horses had been taken to a corral and barn down the block. Dinah, by now, had perished in the flames.
Seconds later, the Company Six wagons arrived and began pumping water on the barn. Patrick was overjoyed to see that his wife and children were all right. He spent a couple of minutes consoling his family, then dashed back to join in the firefight.
Soon the heat became so intense that those who stood in the backyards adjoining the O’Leary property had to move away.
Someone shouted that the Joyce barn was on fire. The wind had carried sparks to its roof, and the shingles were aflame. Wind-driven flames leaped and danced across it, and smoke rose toward the night sky.
At the Courthouse Tower, Nate Canton saw more firelight in the sky and decided Company Six needed help. Having received no confirmation on the exact spot of the fire, he misjudged it and sent two of Company Seven’s fire wagons to the corner of Halsted and Canalport, nearly a mile from the actual blaze.
That left Company Six alone to fight the blaze, and soon the O’Leary house burst into flame while another nearby barn caught fire, and paint on the O’Malley house began to peel from the heat.
Katie O’Leary stood weeping as she held her children close. With a sickening sense of horror she remembered the lantern she’d set down in a corner of Dinah’s stall. The ailing cow had no doubt knocked it over. This whole thing was her fault.
In spite of the water brigade, the O’Malley house began to burn. As the fire leaped to new fuel, the gathering crowd moved farther down the block. Children began to wail, and frightened mothers tried to console them. If the fire was not contained soon, the entire block was going to go up in flames.
The Company Seven wagons finally arrived, having followed the glare in the sky.
Moments later, Shaemus and Maureen O’Malley, along with Donald and Patricia, were coming h
ome from Chicago’s south side. They had spent the afternoon and early evening with friends.
As the O’Malley buggy swung onto the main avenue leading to the west side, Maureen pointed to the sky. “Shaemus, there’s a fire in our part of town.”
A cold dread touched Shaemus’s heart as he viewed the orange glow, and he put the horses to a gallop.
The wind became a deafening roar overhead as Shaemus drove the buggy toward their neighborhood, pressing the horses to go faster.
“Papa!” Patricia gasped. “It’s our neighborhood!”
A tiny whimper escaped Maureen’s lips. “Oh! I think it’s our block!”
Shaemus snapped the reins and shouted at the horses, trying to get more speed out of them. Moments later they rounded the corner on DeKoven street, four blocks from their house, and it was quite evident the fire was in the center of the block.
“Shaemus!” cried Maureen as they drew near and saw all the people gathered. “Our house!”
Shaemus uttered a string of profane words and said, “It’s burning on the back side! We’ll go in through the front door and get everything out that we can!”
“But Papa!” Patricia wailed, “isn’t it dangerous for us to go in there?”
“Not if we get in and out in a hurry. We’ve got to get our money!”
“Oh, Shaemus!” Maureen said, clutching at his arm. “How many times have I tried to get you to put our money in a bank?”
“And how many times have I told you I don’t trust banks?” he countered. “We’ll get the money and as many other valuables as possible. The four of us can carry a lot if we work together!”
People gawked as the four O’Malleys darted across the street, Maureen and Patricia holding their skirts ankle-high. One elderly man, who was not able to help fight the fire, called out from the crowd, “Don’t go in there, Shaemus! It’s too dangerous!”
“Have to!” Shaemus shouted back. “We’ve got valuables to save!”
The smoke was thick inside the house, and the fire had spread almost as far as the staircase to the second floor.
“Papa!” Donald said, coughing. “We need to get out!”
“It won’t take long to save the most important things if we work together!” Shaemus coughed as he spoke, but doggedly led his family to the stairs. “I’ll get the money. The three of you get what clothing you can carry.”
“We should grab some of Kathleen’s clothes, too!” Maureen said as they reached the top of the stairs.
One of the upstairs bedrooms had been used as an office. Shaemus dashed inside and opened the safe, which stood in the closet. He grabbed a shirt from a hanger and swiftly wrapped the family’s entire fortune in it, then rolled it into a ball and tied it with the sleeves.
When he reached the master bedroom, Maureen was coughing nonstop as she pulled clothes out of her closet.
“Don’t take too much, Maureen!” Shaemus said as he reached for his own clothing. “I’ve got our money here. We can buy new clothes. If you can stuff some of the family pictures amongst the clothes, go ahead.”
A few minutes later, the family met in the smoke-filled hall.
Maureen, who had her arms filled with dresses, looked back up the stairs. “Did anybody get any of Kathleen’s clothes?”
“It’ll only take a minute to grab some, Mama,” Donald said. “I’ll get them.”
“We’ll all help you,” said Shaemus. “Come on!”
Arms already loaded, the four of them crowded into Kathleen’s room and divided eight dresses among them.
“Oh-h-h!” Maureen wailed. “My house! My house! My house is going to be destroyed!”
“We’ll build a new one!” Shaemus shouted, leading them back to the hall.
As they hurried toward the staircase, they could hardly see for the smoke. They heard glass shatter somewhere, and there was a sudden gust of wind inside the house. The intense heat had broken a window, and the hot wind, like a blast from a furnace, blew stinging glass particles into their faces.
When they reached the stair landing, the entire staircase was on fire, and flames were being driven upward by the howling wind.
“Papa-a-a-a!” Patricia cried. “We can’t get out! We’re trapped!”
Katie O’Leary let out a wild scream and the crowd gasped as the O’Leary house collapsed in on itself, sending up a huge ball of flame with a deafening roar.
Chiefs Williams and Murham led their firefighters toward the street. The fire was spreading through two square blocks, and the fire wagons needed to be repositioned.
In the midst of the chaos, a woman ran up to Chief Murham and cried, “The O’Malleys are inside their house!”
The chief stopped in his tracks. “They’re what? My men said the house wasn’t occupied!”
“It wasn’t, but the O’Malleys came home a while ago and went in there! We warned them not to, but they did it anyhow!”
Murham and Williams turned to look at the O’Malley house, which was covered with flames on both sides and the front.
“Look up there!” shouted a man in the crowd.
There was movement at a window in a front bedroom. Someone was trying to pull up the sash.
“No way we can get a ladder up there,” Williams said. “The walls on fire.”
Bill Murham moved as close to the O’Malley house as he could and lifted an arm to ward off some of the heat. “Break the window!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Can you hear me? Break the window and jump!”
The figure in the bedroom moved away, and a few seconds later the glass shattered, sending a shower of splintered glass into the yard. Wooden chair legs stuck out through the broken window for an instant, then were gone. The figure appeared briefly at the window with smoke billowing around him. Then a thunderous roar was heard as the floor of the second story collapsed. A few seconds later the roof caved in, and like the O’Leary house, it went down in a heap. Flames leaped forty feet in the air, and the wind carried away the spark-filled billowing smoke.
Cries and moans raced through the crowd as they realized the O’Malleys had perished in the flames.
More fire companies began to arrive, bells clanging, horses snorting.
Katie O’Leary stood in shock, still clutching her children close. The O’Malleys were dead because she had left the lantern in the stall with Dinah.
By the time the chiefs got together to assess the situation, the fire had spread to four other places, including houses and barns. The occupants had loaded their wagons and buggies as best they could and were moving to the far edge of the crowd.
While the firemen and many of the citizens were fighting the spreading blaze, a man dashed up to Patrick O’Leary and said, “Let me take the hose, Pat! Katie has fainted, and your children are terrified. They need you!”
O’Leary ran to the spot where he knew his wife and children had been standing. Two women were kneeling beside an unconscious Katie. Patrick quickly scooped up Ryan and Amy and stood over the neighbor women who were ministering to his wife. One woman rubbed Katie’s hands briskly, trying to revive her, while the other used her apron to fan Katie’s face.
Amy’s and Ryan’s tears began to subside as they clung to their dad.
Patrick turned his attention to one of the women. “What happened, Martha?”
“Don’t know,” said Martha Mulligan. “She was standing here with Ryan and Amy and just started crying. Pretty soon she collapsed.”
Still keeping a grip on his children, Patrick knelt down and looked into Katie’s pale face. “I think that seeing our house go up in flames was too much for her.”
Even as he spoke, Katie moaned, and her eyelids fluttered. She looked up at Patrick, trying to focus on his face.
“Honey, are you all right?” Patrick said.
Katie’s mind cleared, and she began to weep anew. “Oh, Pat, this is all my fault! It’s all my fault!”
DWIGHT L. MOODY HAD PREACHED HARD to sinners in the Sunday evening service, but Kathleen
O’Malley had endured the invitation without making a move. She felt relieved to walk up the aisle toward the vestibule when the service was over.
Suddenly a man who had exited the front doors a moment before came dashing back in, shouting, “There’s a big fire on the west side!”
People poured outside—Kathleen and the Killanins included—to see a saffron glow in the sky to the west. The stiff wind blew the pungent scent of smoke all the way across the city.
Soon the Killanin buggy was racing along with others toward the west side. As they drew near their own neighborhood, which was on the southeast side of the 27th District, Turlough let out a pent-up breath. “Looks like our house is safe for the time being. Let’s get to Kathleen’s neighborhood.”
Soon it was apparent that Kathleen’s neighborhood was close to the heart of the fire. People were bunched up on street corners and in yards, watching the flames that were shooting thirty and forty feet into the air.
As they turned onto DeKoven Street, Turlough slowed the buggy because of the crowd, and Kathleen jumped out while it was still in motion, crying, “My house! My house is gone!” She lifted her skirts and ran toward the spot where her family’s house had been.
Turlough pulled the reins, and Hennie slipped groundward, running after Kathleen. Her mother shouted something, but it was lost in the hubbub.
As Kathleen pushed and elbowed her way through the crowd, trying to get close to the flaming ruins of her house, a neighbor lady grabbed her arm and said, “Kathleen! Kathleen! Oh, thank God, you’re alive!”
Kathleen ran her gaze over the woman’s face and then looked at others in the crowd. “Mrs. Carbery! Where’s my family? Have you seen my family? Our house is gone!”
Hennie Killanin drew up behind Kathleen as Delia Carbery gripped Kathleen’s hands as if to keep her there. “Honey, I thought you were in the house when it went down! Oh, I’m so glad you weren’t!”
“She was with me, ma’am,” Hennie said. “We were in church.”
Kathleen seemed to be unaware of Hennie’s presence. “Mrs. Carbery,” she said, looking a bit dazed, “haven’t you seen my family?”