Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1885-12-02

! hlaNt NtHl rs ttE Us sac cDult, ana
| keep her ~ ad above the water. She
thought with pang that the papers
would be wet. int they ere tied, and
anyway they would not be burned. So
she tried to take comfort, though an
awful fear had come upon her that she
should never see her parents again.
Then, too, sic remembered that no
one knew she had gone, nor where TO
look for her, and though she had
thought only of being brave, she found
she had been foolish. "But the papers
are safe, and papa will be glad" was
the thought that always came to COM
fort her despair.
AT last, after hours Of agony and ter
ror and distress, with groans and cries
and prayers in strange confusion, such
as no one can imagine who did not pass
through t,wben many thought the world
was burning up. and all had little hope
of getting out alive, the fire burned itself
out in that part of the city and swept on
to the north.
1t was late in the afternoon before the
weary, hungry, fainting fugitives ven
tured TO crawl out of the lake, wiring
what water they could from their
clothes, and set out to find spot on
earth where was no fire, if such spot
| there was.
| Grace joined in the rush over the
heated earth, water pouring from her
| clothes at first, but soon dried in the
heat around her. Home and papa's
| package was her only thought now, but
where was home? AS soon as she reach
ed the pavements she saw that she was
| hopclessly lost. Where was Dearborn
| street, Where Clark street?
All was alike unrecognizable. Every
house was burned, lamp-posts. street
| signs, all leveled with the ground. She
looked upon a smoking and steaming
wilderness, and MS she turned her face
| towards where her home should be, and
saw the vast wall of fire marching stead
| lily on, she knew she had no home in the
| world. And where then were father
and mothcrp The awful desolation that
swept over the poor little soul in that
| terrible moment is something too horri-
BILE for you to imagine. Be thankful
that it is. She would have sunk under
the weight of her despair but for the
thought of the precious package. For
| that she moved on must save it"
her constant thought, Papa will be
dishonored without it'-ard the poor
tired feet hurried on she knew not
| where.
From that part of the city the only
way of 'cachiDg the West Side. whore
was no fire, was over certain bridge.
Gradually the stream of people, of
whom Grace was one, drew near that
bridge, in whose narrow passage horrors
was taking place all the time. The
broad street had hardly room for flying
people in wagons and carriages of every
sort, when then the way grew narrow
| there was terrible struggle for place.
Heavy wagons piled high with furniture
crushed ruthlessy into carriages of peo-
pie; furniture fell aud blocked the way;
vehicles were disabled and abandoned;
| frightened horses let loose to trample at
their pleasure; people with loads thrown
down; feeble women pressed to the wall.
All the worst of.human passions were let
loose, aud men became fiends in the
mad struggle for safety and life.
As Grace reached this place, almost
crushed by the crowd, a strong man be-
hind her spoke kindly.
"My poor lad," he said, you'll be
|
with great difficulty he raised her above
the crowd and stood her on the narrow
rail next the water.
'Now, hold on to me-" he said, and
went on, fighting his own way, while
Grace, nearly dead with terror, and ex-
pccting every moment to fall into the
water, held wildly to his neck. Once or
twice she slipped, but his strong arm
caught her, and Mt last, after hours, as
it seemed to her, they reached the other
side, and he lifted her down.
my boy" he said kindly, "you look
delicate to be alone in this mad crowd;
won't you come with me?"
Oh, how Grace longed 10 do so, but
fear restrained her. He thought she
was = boy, and she could not explain,
because it might endanger the precious
package.
"Oh, nor she said hastily, II must
find papa, but thank you more than
can say for helping me over the bridge
shuddering as she spoke.
Eyes, little man." said her friend,
you'd hardly have come over alive if
hadn'tse you."
''Papa'll thank you, too" began
|
one would suspect she had valuables,
she turned hastily and ran down side
street.
But where should she 90? That was
the West Side, and free from fire, but
she had never been there, knew no one
and the streets were full of flying peo
pie. She could only go with them, fol
they all seemed going one way.
So they were, and after long walk
in which she many times nearly fell with
fatigue, she reached the end of her jour
ney, the place where half city was col
lected in misery and despair. 1t was 6
wide, bare prairie, with hundreds--yes
thousands Of people, some with house
full of furniture and goods, some with
nothing in the world but their night
clothes, camped down to wait for--they
J knew not what.
J That scene can not be described.
Grace sank exhausted on the ground
and very likely would never have arisen
for she was wet and cold, tired and hun
cry. But although everything in life
seemed gone, kind hearts were no
burned up, and near her happened to b,
a motherly German woman, who hat
} saved all the furniture of her little house
by means of her husbands express
wagon. and was now guarding it and hel
: three children, while her husband wa
making one hundred dollars load with
J the same wagon, drawing rich mems
treasures to a place of safety. Tbt
good Frau had already made fire il
, her little stove and heated some water
preparatory to cooking supper, and see
ing Grace apparently dying, hurried
about and made her a cup of gooC
strong coffee. She could not speak ;
} word Of English, but she doubtless savet
Grace's life.
. After drinking the cupful, which gave
her new strength, the poor child buriec
her face in her hands and burst into un
, comfortable tears, with sobs and means
that touched the warm hearted woman
| l. I'll L.. Il 4 Ia.