Fire: Chicago 1871 (11 page)

The shoreline of the lake was lined with people and their belongings, piled close to the water's edge. Julie saw a man digging madly in the sand. Astonished, she saw him positioning two small children in the hole. Was he going to bury them to protect them from the heat? She twisted in the saddle to try to see what he was doing. At her last glimpse he was pitching sand back into the hole.

“Hang on!” Nate yelled over his shoulder.

Julie tightened her grip on his waist just as the horse bolted forward. At first, she thought something had scared it, but then she realized that Nate was digging his heels into the horse's sides. As the gelding pounded along the plank-covered street, Julie managed to get a glimpse over Nate's shoulder. The street ahead of them was empty—but it was bordered on both sides by fire.

As they got closer to the leaping flames, the gelding stiffened its strides, raising its head and slowing down. Nate drummed at the horse's ribs and flanks with his heels, shouting encouragement.

Julie stared at the tunnel of fire they were about to enter. The flames were so close here, arcing almost all the way over the street. The burning buildings were sagging beneath the weight of their brick and stone facades. The gelding slowed a little more, and Julie heard Nate's voice rise to a panic pitch. She knew why. If the gelding balked here, they would have little chance of survival. She loosened one hand from around Nate's waist and slipped her father's canteen strap from her shoulder.

Then, careful of her balance, Julie let go with her other hand. Holding the canteen itself close to her body, she gripped the long strap in her right hand. Suddenly she shrieked like a dime novel Indian on the warpath and whipped at the horse's flanks, lashing it with the long leather strap. Startled, the gelding leaped forward, lunging to get away from the sudden attack of stinging pain.

The high flames on either side of them slid past as the horse raced forward. The air seared at Julie's
lungs, and she could hear the gelding dragging in heat-barbed breaths. She could feel the horse trembling even as it galloped, but it did not balk again, and in seconds, they burst out of the tunnel of fire.

Nate pulled the gelding in a wide turn, risking a quick backward glance to grin at Julie. She smiled back at him, tremors of fear still vibrating down her arms and legs. The gelding galloped on as she resettled the canteen. She held tightly to Nate's waist, feeling an odd lightness in her heart, a quickening of hope as they turned onto Randolph Street and headed west into the tearing wind.

Showers of sparks and embers burst over the rooflines of the buildings that lined Randolph. Julie could see sheets of flame snapping like giant, tattered flags, shredded by the force of the wind.

Nate kept the gelding at a gallop, swerving to avoid people in the street. In front of the Field and Leiter's store, Julie saw a wagon. It was loaded with what looked like brocade dresses and bales of silk. The driver was lashing the horses, shouting at the top of his voice. The wind drowned out his words, but the sharp pops of the whip reached Julie's ears. She stared as they went past.

Men were standing in front of Field and Leiter's, passing buckets along a line. The marble front of the building looked wet. Nate swerved abruptly, and Julie clutched at his waist, realizing only after a moment that another wagoner, coming out of a side street, had whipped his team directly into their path.

“Hang on!” Nate screamed over his shoulder. The gelding changed leads, trying to veer sharply enough. Then it stumbled, pitching forward, but managed to right itself. Julie clung to Nate's back as they were flung forward, trying not to lose her balance, terrified that she would start to slide sideways. An instant later, the gelding was running solidly again. Julie pressed her face against Nate's shoulder, her eyes closed for a few seconds. When she opened them, the wagon was a half block behind them.

Nate pulled the gelding in as they crossed State Street. Julie could see the posters displayed around the grand entrance of the Crosby Opera House. The paper had burst into flames from the heat in the air.

For an instant Julie pictured the tickets on her mother's bureau. Julie knew her parents had been looking forward to the Crosby Opera House's reopening tomorrow night. The Theodore Thomas
Orchestra was to have been featured. The opera house had been newly furnished with fine carpets and bronzes. For weeks, the sound of hammers and saws had rung out from the wide entry doors. Now, the opera house would probably be destroyed.

Julie heard a rending scream. Up ahead, a woman stood in front of Wood's Museum. The hem of her dress was aflame, and she seemed unable to do anything about it beyond her wailing. Julie felt Nate rein in. As the gelding slowed, fighting the bit, Julie's eyes were riveted on the screaming woman. Nate swung his leg over the horse's neck and then pulled Julie to the ground. He handed her the reins and she stood, gripping the leather tightly as the gelding circled nervously.

Nate sprinted away from her, tearing off his shirt. He dragged it through an ash-clotted water trough, then leaped up onto the boardwalk. Falling to his knees, he beat at the woman's flaming skirts. She seemed to understand that he was trying to save her and she turned slowly, still screaming hysterically, her arms straight up in the air.

Suddenly, the gelding reared, startling Julie so badly that she nearly let go of the reins. She jumped
aside, hauling the horse back down as she had often seen her father do. For a moment, she concentrated on keeping hold of the reins, talking quietly to calm herself as much as the horse. Her hands were shaking. The gelding stood nervously, its ears twitching back and forth.

When she managed to look back at Nate and the woman again, the flames were out. The woman was shaking her head as Nate gestured down Randolph Street. Abruptly, her blackened skirt swirling around her legs, she turned and ran—eastward toward Michigan Avenue. The gelding danced sideways, and Julie had to fight to control it again.

“Where is she going?” Julie shouted as Nate came toward her, putting on his wet shirt.

“Her family is by the lake,” Nate said, breathing hard. “Here, Julie.” He laced his fingers into a stirrup.

Julie let him help her mount, then leaned back to give him room to swing his leg over. She barely had time to get her arms around his waist before the gelding leaped into a headlong gallop again. By the time they passed Miller's Jewelry Store, Nate had the gelding in hand. A little farther on, Julie stared at the collapsed ruin that had been the courthouse.
Suddenly, the gelding shied, dropping back into a trot, jarring her so badly that she slewed to one side. Nate half turned, reaching back to steady her. “Hold on! It's going to get worse up here.”

He faced front again, and Julie leaned to look ahead of them. The stream of people was thickening on Randolph Street. The gelding was nervous, tossing its head as Nate wove a crooked path between wagons and wheelbarrows, makeshift stretchers, and an endless current of frightened people.

As they crossed Fifth Avenue, Nate was forced to rein in again. On all sides of them, a crush of refugees slowed as they all neared the bottleneck of the Randolph Street Bridge. Julie could hear Nate talking to the gelding, a constant, soothing rush of words. The horse was sweating, lathered. It was high-spirited and swift, Julie knew—too highly bred to be docile when it was boxed in like this.

“Get out of the way!”

At the sound of the enraged shout, Julie stretched up to see over Nate's shoulder. A big man was shaking his fist, cursing at a woman who sat woodenly on the driver's bench of a hansom cab. How she had come to be driving it was a mystery. Julie had
certainly never seen a woman driving a hack before.

At first, Julie couldn't tell what the problem was, but it was clear that the traffic behind the wagon was standing still. More men began to shout, and so did a few of the women. Nate guided the gelding closer to the gutter, where traffic was still moving. The people close behind the hansom had no such choice. The crowds on either side were packed too tightly, and no one seemed willing to let them get into line.

Slowly, Julie and Nate came up alongside the hansom. When Julie saw what the problem was, she caught her breath. The horse pulling the hansom had died in its harness. It lay at a strange angle, one foreleg cocked upward, its eyes closed. Julie felt Nate recoil and saw him look aside. She could not, even though it was awful. The poor animal had probably run miles that night and had finally dropped of exhaustion.

Julie looked into the woman's face. She had no expression at all and she sat so still that for a second Julie thought perhaps she had fainted. But her face wasn't pale, and her eyes were wide open. Julie heard another curse and saw the big man clambering around the hansom. Looking back as they passed,
Julie saw him raise a knife, then bend to cut the harness. Four or five other men were standing close, shouting back and forth. Julie faced front again.

For a moment, Julie stared at the back of Nate's shirt. The roar of the wind was loud enough to drown out most of the crowd's noise. She glanced up at the sky. The weird glowing flakes of falling debris streamed and swirled in the wind. The eerie orangish light of the fire still arced against the sky, but it was a little less hellish now.

Julie closed her eyes for a second, suddenly understanding. The fire had not dimmed; the sky was getting brighter. It was a half hour or so before dawn.

Nate fought to keep the gelding calm—to keep himself calm. It was unnerving to be trapped in the living mass that filled Randolph Street from gutter to gutter. The wind was so strong now that he had to squint to be able to see anything at all. His shirt was molded against his side, held there by the violent gusts. The gelding's mane lashed his hands, stinging his skin.

Nate strained to see the far side of the river. Stray pockets of fire seemed to be everywhere, but there were no walls of flame yet. Maybe the boardinghouse would be all right. Maybe.

Nate remembered the canteen and felt a sudden, piercing thirst. He could feel Julie's hands trembling
on his waist as he turned. “May I have a drink?” He spoke loudly so that she could hear him over the wind and the crowd.

Abruptly, the gelding danced sideways, barely missing a tall, grim-faced man on their right. Nate twisted back around, tightening the reins. The gelding steadied, and Nate was grateful. The tall man was carrying a pistol.

Nate glanced over his shoulder again to take the canteen from Julie. He tipped it up for a long drink. The water was incredibly cool—soothing his smoke-raw throat. As he lowered the canteen, he saw a man looking at it greedily. Lowering it quickly, Nate let it rest on the saddle. He held it there until the man looked away. Then he handed it back to Julie.

The crowd was inching forward. Nate kept patting the gelding's neck, trying to ease its natural fear of the people pressing close on all sides. Nate could see the Randolph Street Bridge clearly now. The roadway was marked with flat-topped railings that ran between the buggy lanes. On a normal day, there could be as many as ten carriages or wagons on the bridge at the same time. Today, there would be thirty or more, hemmed in on every side by people
walking, pushing wheelbarrows and handcarts, dragging trunks loaded with heavy silverware and other family treasures.

The plank walkways that ran outside the buggy road—outside the big, wagon wheel supports—were jammed with people. Nate heard shouting and saw that the guardrail on the right side was broken. People were moving onto the bridge carefully, pressing against the arched supports that separated them from the wagon roadway. They walked sideways, their eyes on the river below.

The crowd moved forward again. The gelding took a step, then stopped again. Nate patted its neck. The muscles beneath the silky coat were tight as piano strings. The big horse was trembling, its shoulders dark with sweat.

“Can you see if there's fire on the other side of the bridge?” Julie asked.

Nate glanced back at her, shaking his head. “No, not this far up.”

Julie didn't answer. He saw a look of deep sorrow in her eyes.

“Your parents are probably fine.”

“I hope so. I—”

A scream cut short her answer. They both faced front, Julie leaning to see around him. Nate watched, horrified, as a man pitched off the bridge walkway where the guardrail was broken. A woman tried to catch his arm but could not. She wailed, appealing to those behind her for help. Shrugging, avoiding her eyes, the crowd streamed past her.

“Oh, God, Nate!”

He nodded without turning to look at Julie. There was nothing they could do. The crowd surged forward five or ten feet, and Nate had to concentrate on keeping the gelding in hand. The high-strung animal would bolt, given any chance at all. And if it did, it would end up trampling someone.

As they came to the rise in the roadway that would funnel them onto the bridge, Nate looked downstream, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who had fallen. There were tugboats near the bridge. Maybe the man had been hauled aboard one of them. Nate hoped so.

“Look!” Julie was pointing upriver.

Nate followed her gesture. The Madison Street Bridge had been swung open, its spans folded like wings around its central support. People on both
sides of the river were yelling at the bridge tender, pleading with him to swing the spans back into place so they could cross. Nate shook his head. As long as the bridge tender ignored them, the people were trapped.

The gelding shuddered when its hooves touched the bridge planking, but stepped cautiously up behind the freight wagon in front of them. The people walking made their way to one side or the other, using the boardwalks outside the roadway lanes. Those who went to the right passed the broken railing in single file.

Nate sat in the saddle alertly, ready for any sudden move the horse might make. There was no room for error. If the gelding acted up here, it could easily blunder into a barricade, crushing their legs. Only once they were well onto the bridge, moving with the snail-slow traffic, did Nate risk another glance at the river.