Later there were reports of Chicagoans trapped or crushed in their homes, on one of
the bridges, or in the Washington and LaSalle Street tunnels, the latter of which had just
opened in early July. Along with the stories of narrow escapes, heroic rescues, and
selfless mutual assistance, there were also tales--no doubt exaggerated but with some basis
in fact--of looting and drunkenness, as well as of outrageous demands and outright
thievery by those with wagons who had been hired to cart goods to safety. "'Pay as you go' had become
the watchword of the hour," observed one of the refugees drily. "Never was there a
community so hastily and completely emancipated from the evils of the credit system."
The burned-out gathered in dazed and dispirited groups on open stretches of
prairie west and northwest of the central city, in the South Division along Lake
Michigan, in the North Division at the south end of Lincoln Park, and along "the
Sands," a patch of lakeshore just north of the river. Here Chicagoans who
heretofore had little contact with each other were unceremoniously forced
together. As a fire history put it, one could find "Mr. McCormick, the
millionaire of the reaper trade, and other north-side nabobs, herding
promiscuously with the humblest laborer, the lowest vagabond, and the meanest
harlot. Once they settled themselves, there was little they could do but bear
witness to this calamity beyond comprehension.
