JUUCS MANIPN Rev. p. Pehnin, Missionary Pries THE ^ FINGER OF GOD IS THERE! Oil, THRILLING EPISODE OF A STA>'OE EVENT UELATEU BY AN EYE-WITXKSB. REV. P . PERNIN, UnUed H tales Missionary. TuBMsiiED wirrr tme Approbation op Uis LoRDsuir TUK iilSilor OK MONTKKAL. -♦ «•» ♦- For the Church of Our Lady of Lourdc:, in Mari- nette, State of Wisc:n:in, •••-., • • * .' .' JJit ^U^iXii^ti nu* in«ie.''iv';(ORU,03."~l*s.*65. A.id tiitJiC llu'ist brouglit ivs Jjut^ into a reiW'shii shinent. Printed by John Lovell, St. Xxcbolas Street. : 1874. • • • • » • • • • • • • ■ I « • • • • • • • • • * * • » • • » • • ••'■.»'* ♦ « . • • • • • • • ■ • * APPROBATION. Wo the undersigned, bishop of Montreal, liave read the work called, The finger of God is There, &e., by Kev. P. Pernin, and have been deeply touched by it. As we are fully convinced that this narration cannot but interest the faithful of our dioce.se, wh(^se hearts ever respond to the appeal of the rtlHicted, we earnestly recommend its perusal to them. "VVe even deem it right to advise them to have a copy of this work in their homes, so as to read and re-read it frequently in t\ie family circle, thus keeping constantly before them striking ex- amples of God's goodness towards those whom lie wishes to save, as well as of is terrible justice when compelled to stretch forth His arm to punish. Besides, as the profits arising from the sale of this book are to be devoted to the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes, now building at Marinette, all will doubles* make it a duty to purchase copies, and thus encourage an excellent enterprise, tend- ing to promote the glory of Ood and the good of souls. Montreal, 24th May, day consecrated by the Church to honoring Our Lady of Good Succor, in the year 1874. t Ig.j Bishop of Montreal. 60240 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Approbation of Tlis Lordship the liishop ot'^Ion- t-roal. r. Preface 7 Chap. I. — Before the Catastrophe 11 Chap. ][.— During the Catastrophe 33 Chap. III.— After the Catastrophe ..' 62 Conclusion 90 Appendix 9"*= » ;^e Min^tx oi ^ob is t^ere ( PEEFACE. Wliy publish this narrative two years aiul a half after the great catastrophe it relates has occurred ? For two important reasons : Ist. My health, weakened by the ordeal through which I had passed, has been too uncertain since that fatal period to permit of my undertaking the work before. 2nd. The countless pre-occupations accompany- ing my efforts to attend to the spiritual wants of my people, deprived of all they had once pos- sessed, and the trials through which I myself had passed, absorbed my time completely. Why write to-day this recital, which, thougk. describing an episode of one of the most thrilling phenomena of our time, commences uevertheless to be a fact of the past, forgotten more completely each succeeding day ? For two reasons also : 1st. Several distinguished personages, among others two eminent bishops, one residing in the United States and the other in England, have urged me to write this narrative, representing that its perusal might be of seivice to many souls. 'Tirs a duty for me to yield to the advice of those who possess so entirely my esteem and affection. s 2ii(l. In publishing these pages I liope also to urilist the .sympathies of charitable souls on behalf ol' the good work now going on at Marinette, and lo obtain from tliem the pocuwiary means neces- «ary to tlie liappy termiiuition of tlie enterprise. The two following extracts, taken from a coui)le of articles published in the Freemaii's Journal of New York, will sutHciently explain the nature and the difticulties of Jny undertaking : " New Youk, 20th June, 1873. *' A desert hlos&oyning out anew. " Sunday, the eight of June, will be long remem- bered by the catholics of Marinette. On that day Hi3 Lordship Bishop Melclier, of Green Bay, canie to bless the foundation stone of a new church des- tined to replace the one destroyed during the terrible conflagration of 1871, which covered this part of the country with tljins. The ceremony was imposing, &c The document placed in the foundation-stone was as follows : *' Under the Pontificate of Plus IX, Pope, Joseph Melcher, being Bishop of Green Bay, " U. S. Grant, President of the United States, 0. 0. Washburn, Governor of tne State of Wisconsin, The Rev. P. Pernin, parish priest of the Catholic Church of Marinette, And the Rev. W. Corby, of the Society of the Holy Cross, Preacher on the occasion. In presence of several priests, and a larg^e concourse of people, this foundation stone was blessed by the Ordinary of the Diocese of Green Bay, for the church to be licre built in lionor of Our Liidy of Lourdes, and for the salvation of many." *'A11 this displays the zeal of our Beloved Pastor, as well as his devotion to the welfare of his people. His parish, though overwhelmed by the enormous losses inlhcted on it by fire promises to soon become under his energetic direction one of the best organized in this part of the country. Whilst evincing such proofs of interest and devotion, tiie zealous pastor cannot fail in winning the love and respect of his parishioners, and furthering the cause of Religion among them." The second extract from the Haiiie New York journal is dated January 18th, 1874. It was sent to the Editor of the FrecmaUi on the occasion of luy silver wedding, that is to say the twenty-fifth anniversary of my adimssion to the priesthocxi. 1 will only quote that portion of the article which relates to the buildings now in course of recon- struction. " The catholics of Marinette have been cruelly tried by the terrible fires which ravaged about two years ago the North of Wisconsin. Their church, presby- tery and school were completely destroyed, and since then they have been doing their best to replace what they have lost. Their Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Pernin, has labored unceasingly, but his resources being very limited, be has only succeeded as yet in rebuilding the half of his church. Father Pernin, notwithstand- ing the disadvantages he has had to contend with, Las not forgotten the children confided to his care, and, after continued and courageous efforts, has sue- 10 ceedcd in building a parish school. His zeal has been l^onerously seconded not only by the Catholics of Marinette, but also by the Protestant portion of its inhabitants. Still but a part of the task is accom- plislied. Owing to want of resources, the school is not yet opened, but it is hoped that help may arrive before long from some unknown quarter." I have dedicated my church to Our Lady of LonrdeSy celebrated to-duy throughout the entire world for the miracles of love and mercy that she is o])eratiii»i; everywhere. It ia, I believe, the Hrst church in the United States consecrated to the Blessed Virgin under this her new title. My intention, in selecting her as patroness, was to render doubly dear to her this town which already bears her name, for Marinette is but a corruption of Marie, and thus draw down on it her special blessings. May this tender mother deign to look iiivorably on my intention and bless the object 1 have in view ! It is all done for her honor and the salvation of souls. CllAVTKR I. nEFORE THE PATASTROrTTE. A glance at the country. — A country cover- ed with dense forests, in the midst of which are to be met with here and tliere, along newly opened roads, clearings of more or less extent, sometimes a half league in width to afford space for an infant town ; or perhaps three or four acres intended for a farm. With the exception of these isolated spots where the trees have been cut down and burned, all is a wild but majestic forest. Trees, trees everywhere, nothing else but trees as far as you can travel from the bay, either towards the north or west. These immense forests arc bounded on the east by Green Bay of Lake Michigan, and by the lake itself. The face of the country is in general undulating; diversified by valleys over- grown with cedars and spruce trees, sandy hills covered with evergreens, and large tracts of rich land filled with the different varieties of hard wood, oak, maple, beech, ash, elm and birch. The climate of thiw i^egion is generally uniform and favorable 12 to the crops that are now tried there wHh remarkable success. Eains are frequent, and they generally fall at a favorable time. Natural causes of the conflagration, — The year 1871 was, however, distinguished by its unusual dryness. Farmers had profited of the latter circumstance to enlarge their clearings, cutting down and l)urning the wood that stood in their way. Hundreds of laborers employed in the construction of a railroad had acted in like manner, availinir themselves both of axe and fire to advance their work. Hunters and Indians scour these forests conti- nuallj", csj^ecially in the autumn season, at which they ascend the streams time for trout-fishing, or disperse through the woods deer-stalking. At night they kindle a large fire wherever they may chance to halt, prepare their suppers, then wrapping themselves in their bhxnkets, sleep peace- fully, extended on the earth, knowing that the fire will keep at a distance any wild animals that may happen to range through the vicinity during the night. The ensuing morning they depart without taking the ]U'ecaution of extinguishing the 13 smouldering cml)cr8 of the fire tlitit has protected and warmed them. FarmeFs and others act in a simihir manner. In this way the woods, particularly in tlio fall, are gleaming every where Avith fires lighted by man, and which, fed on every side by dry leaves and branches, sj)read more or less. If fanned by a brisk gale of wind they are liable to assume most formid- able proportions. Twice or thrice before October $th, the effects of the wind, favored by the general drj^ness, had filled the inhabitants of the environs with consternation. A few de- tails on this point may interest the reader, and serve at the same time to illustrate inore fully the great catastrophe which overwhelmed us later. The destructive element seemed whilst multijilying its warnings to be at the same time essaying its own strength. On the 22nd September, I was summoned, in the exercise of my min- istry, to the Sugar Bush, a place in the neighborhood of Peshtigo, where a luimber of farms lie adjacent to each other. AVhilst waiting at one of these, isolated from the rest, 1 took Si gun, ivnd, accompanied by 14 a lad of twelvo years of ago, who offered to guide me through the wood, started in pursuit of some of the pheasants which abounded in the environs. At the expira- tion of a few hours, seeing that the sun was sinking in the horizon, I bade the child re-conduct me to tlie farm house. He en- deavored to do so hut without success. Wo went on and on, now turning to the right, now to the left, but without coming in view of our destination. In less than a half hour's wanderings we perceived that wo w^ere completely lost in the woods. Night was setting in, and nature was silently preparing for the season of rest. The only sounds audihle were the crackling of a tiny tongue of fire that ran along the ground, in and out, among the trunks of the trees, leaving them unscathed but devouring the dry leaves that ctime in its way ; and the sw^aying of the upper branches of the trees announcing that the wind w^as rising. We shouled loudly, but without evoking any re- ply. I then fired off my gun several times as tokens of distress. Finally a distant hallo reached our ears, then another, then sev- eral coming from dillcrent directions, 15 Eenderod [inxious hy our prolonged ab- sence, the parents of my conipaniou and the farm servants had finally suspected the truth and set out to seek us. Directed to our quarter by our shouts and the firing, they were soon on the right road when a new obstacle presented itself. Fanned by the wind, the tiny flames pre- viously mentioned had united and spread over a considerable surface. We thus found ourselves in the centre of a circle of fire extending or narrowing, more or less, around us. We could not reach the men who had come to our assistance, nor coidd we go to them without incurving the risk of seriously scorching our feet or of being- suffocated by the smoke. They were obliged to fray a passage for us by beating the fire with branches of trees at one par- ticular point, tlius momentarily staying its progress whilst we rapidly made ©ur escape. The danger proved more imminent in places exposed to the wind, and I learned the following day on my return to Peshti- go, that the town had been in great ])erilat the very time that I had lost mj^self in the >yoods. The wind had risen, and, fanning 16 the flames, had driven tliem in the direc- tion of the houses. Hogsheads of water were placed at intervals all round the town, ready for any emergency. I will now mention another incident that happened a few days before the great catastrophe:— I was driving homeward after having visited ni}^ second parish situated on the banks of the River Menominie, about two leagues distant. Whilst quietly following the public road opened through the forest, I remarked little fires gleaming here and there along the route, sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other. Suddenly" I arrived at a spot where the flames were burniiiic on both sides at once with more violence than elsewhere. The smoke driven to the front, filled the road and obscured it to such a degree that I could neither see the extent of the fire nor judge of the amount of danger. I inferred, however, that the latter was not very great as the wind was not against me. I entered then, though at first hesitatingly, into the dense cloud of smoke left darkling behind by the flames burning fiercely forward. Myjiorse hung 17 back, but I finally succeeded In ui-ging him on, and in five or six minutes we emerged safely from this labyrinth of fire and smoke. Here we found ourselves confronted by a dozen of vehicles arrested in their course by the conflagration. — '' Can we pass," inf][uircd one? ''Yes, since I have just done so, biit loosen your reins and urge on your horse or you may be suffocated." Some of the number dashed forward, others had not the hardihood to follow, and consequently returned to Peshtigo. It may thus be seen that warnings were not wanting. I give now another trait, more striking than either of those just de- lated, copied from a Journal published at Green Bay. It is a description of a combat sustained against the terrible element of fire at Peshtigo, Sunday, 24th September, just two weelvs before the destruction of the village : •' Sunday, the 24th inst, was an exciting, I might say a fearful time, in Peshtigo. For several days the fires had been iiaging in the timber all around, north, south, east and west. Saturday, the flames burned throui^h to the river a little above |:ho town ; and on Saturday night, mucli. 18 danger was apprehended from the sparks and cinders that blew across the river, into the upper part of the town, near the factory. A force was stationed along the river, and although fire caught in the sawdust and dry slabs, it was promptly extinguished. It was a grand sight, the fire that night. It burned to the tops of the tallest trees, enveloped them in a mantle of flames, or, winding itself about them like a huge ser- pent, crei:)t to their summits, out upon the branches, and wound its huge folds about them. Hissing and glaring, it lapped out its myriad fiery tongues while its fierce breath swept off the green leaves and roared through the forest like a tempest. Ever and anon some tall old pine, whose huge trunk had become a column of fire, fell with a thundering crash, filling the air with an ascending cloud of sparks and cinders, whilst above this sheet of flames a dense black cloud of resinous smoke, in its strong contrast to the light beneath, seemed to threaten death and destruction to all below. Thousands of b^'ds, driven from their yoosts flew about as ifun certain which way • 13 to go, and made the night still more hide- ous by their startled cries. Frequently they would fly hither and thilhei", calling loudly for their mates, then hovering for a moment in the air suddenly dart down- ward and disappear in the fiery furnace beneath. Thus the night wore away while all earnestly hoped, and many hearts fer- vently pra}^ed, for rain. Sunday morning the fires had died down, so that we began to hope the danger was over. About 11 o'clock, while the different congregations were assembled in their respective churches, the steam whistle of the factory blew a wild blast of alarm. In a moment the temples were emptied of their worshippers, the latter rushing wildly out to see what had happened. Fire had caught in the sawdust near the factory again, but before we reached the spot it was extinguished. The wind had suddenly risen and was blowing a gale from the north-west. The fires in the timber were burning more fiercely than over, and were approaching the river directly opposite the factory. The air was literally filled with the burning coals and cinders, which 20 fell, setting fire all around, and the utmoist dilig'ence was necessary to prevent these flames from sj^jrcading. The engine was brought out, and hundreds of pails from the factory were manned ; in short, everything that was possible, done to prevent the fire from cntcri;ig the own. But now a new danger arose. The iiros to the^west of tlie town were approaching rapidly, and it seemed that nothing short of a miracle could save it from utter destruc- tion. A cloud of liot blinding smoke blew in our faces and made it extremely difficult to SCO or do anything; still prompt and energetic means were taken to check the approaching flames. " The Company's teams were set to carry- ing water, and the whole force of over three liundred of the laborers in the factory and mills were on the ground, besides other citizens. Goods were packed up, and moved from buildings sui)posed to be in immediate danger. Indeed a general con- flagration seemed- inevitable. I have seen fires sweep over the prairies with the speed of a locomotive, and the prairie fire is grand and terrific ; but beside a tim ber 21 fire it sinks into insignificance. In proiioi'- tion as the timber is densei", Jieav^ier, and loftier than tlie prairie gra^ss, the timber fire is intenser, hotter, grander, than the prairie fire. The fire on the prairie before a high wind will rush on and lap up the light dead grass, and it is gone in a breath. In the timber it may move almost as rapidly, but the fire does not go out with the advance waves which sweep over the tops of the trees and catch the light limbs and foliage. Nor is there the same chance to resJst the approach of fire in the forests. It is as though you attempted to resist the ap- pi'oach of an avalanche of fire hurled against you. With the going down of the sun the wind abated and with it the fire. Timber was felled and water thrown over it — build- ings were covered with w^et bhmkets and all uiKler the scorching heat, and in blind- ing suftbcating smoke that was enough to strangle one; and thus passed the night of Sunday. ^' Monday, the wind veered to the south^ and cleared aw^ay the smoke. Strange to say not a building was burned — the town was saved. Monday the factory was closed to 22 give the men rest, and to-day, 27lli Septem- ber, all is quiet ajid going on as usual." AVhat did these repeated alarms filling the minds of the people with anxiety during the three or four weeks preceding the great calamity seem to indicate 1 Doubtless they might have been looked on as the natural results of the great dryness, the number of fires lighted through- out the forests by hunters or others, as well as of the wind that fanned from time to time these fires, augmenting their strength and volume, but who will dare to say that they were not specially ordained by Ilim who is master of causes as well as of their effects ? Does lie not in most cases avail Himself of natural causes to ex- ecute His will and bring about the most wonderful results ? It would indeed be difficult for any one who had assisted as I had done at the terrible events following so closely on the above mentioned indications not to see in them the hand of God, and infer in consequence that these various signs were but forerunners of the great tragedy for which He wished us to be in some degree prepared. 23 T cannot say whctlicr they wci o looked on by many in this h'ght or not, hut certainly some were grcfltly alarmed and prepared as far as lay in their power for a general conflagration, burying iti the earth those objects which they specially wished to save. The Company caused all combustible materials cm which a fire could possibly feed to be taken away, and augmented the num- ber of water hogsheads girdkng the town. Wise precautions certainly, which would have been of groat service in an ordinary case of fire but which were utterly unavail- ing in the awful conflagration that burst upon us. They served nevertheless to m demonstrate more clearly iho finger of God in the events which succeeded. As for myself, I allowed thino^s to take their course without feeling -any great anxiety as to consequences, or taking any precautionary steps, a frame of mind very different to that which I was destined to experience on the evening of 8th October. A word now about my two parishes. Peshtigo. — Peshtigo is situated on a river of that name, about six miles from Green Bay wi^ which it communicates by means* 24 of a nmall railroad. Tho Company cstab- lished at Pesliligo is a source of pronpcrity to tho whole country, not only from its spirit of enterprise and largo pecuniary re- sources but also from its inimerous C3taV)lish- mcnts, the most important of which, a fac- tory of tubs and buckets, affords alone steady enployment to more than ''00 work- men. The population of Peshtigo, includ- ing the farmers settled in tho neighborhood, numbered then about two thousand souls. We were just finishing the construction of a church looked on as a great embellishment to the parish. My abode was near the church, to the west of the river, and about five or six minutes walk from the latter. I mention this so as to render the circumstances of my escape through the midst of the flames more intelligible. Marinette. — Besides Peshtigo, I had the charge of another parish much more im- portant situated on the River Menomonie, at the point where it empties into Green Bay. It is called Marinette, from a female half breed, looked on as their queen by the Indians inhabiting that district. 25 This woman rcccivod in baptism the name of Mary, Marie, which subsequent ly was cor- rupted into that of Marinette, or Irttle Mario. Hence the name of Marinette bestowed on the place. It is there that we are at present building a church in honor of our Lady of Lourdes. At the time of the fire, Mar- inette possessed a church, a handsome new presbytery just finished, in which I was on the point of taking up my abode, besides a house in course of construction, destined to serve as a parish school. The population was about double that of Peshtigo. Singular Coincidence. — Before entering into details, I will mention one more cir- cumstance which may appear providential in the eyes of some, though brought al^out by purely natural causes. At the time of the catastrophe our church at Peshtigo was ready for 2)lastering, the ensuing Monday being aj^pointed for com- mencing the work. The lime and marble dust were lying ready in front of the build- ing, whilst the altar and various ornaments, as well as the pews, had all been temoved. Being unable in consequence to officiate 20 that Sunday in the sacred odifieo, I told the people tluit there would be no mass, notifying at the same time the Catholics of Cedar lilver that I would sj^end the Sunday among them. The latter place was another of my missions, situated on Green Bay, four or five leaixues north of Marinette. Saturday then, 7th October, in accordance with my promise, I left Peshtigo and pro- ceeded to the 3Iast, I perceived above the dense cloud of syioke overhanging the earth, a vivid red reflec- tion of immense extent, and then suddenly struck on my ear, strangely audible in the preternatural silence reigning around, a distant roaring, yetmufiled sound, announ- cing that the elements w^ere in commotion somewhere. I rapidly I'esolved to return 32 liomc and prepare, without farther hesita- tion, for whatever events were impending. From listlews and undecided as I had pre- viously been, I suddenly became active and determined. This change of mind was a great relief The vague fears that had lieretofore pursued me vanished, and an- other idea, certainly not a result of any- thing like mental reasoning on my part, took possession of my mind ; it was, not to lose much time in saving my effects but to direct my flight as speedily as possible in the direction of the river. Henceforth this became my ruling thought, and it was entirely unaccompanied by anything like fear or perplexit}^ My mind seemed all at once to become pcrfectl}^ tranquil. CHAPTEK 11. DURING THE CATASTROPHE. It was now about half-past eight in the evening. I first thought of my horse and turned him free into the street, deeming that in any ease, he would have more chance of escape thus than tied up in the stable. I then set about digging a trench six feet wide and six or seven feet deep, in the sandy soil of the garden, and though the earth was easy enough to work my task proved a tedious one. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, strangely affect- ing the strength and rendering respiration painful and laborious. The only considera- tion that could have induced me to keep on working when I found it almost impossible to move my limbs, was the fear, growing more strongly each moment into a certain- ty, that some great catastrophe was ap- proaching. The crimson reflection in the western portion of the sky was rapidly in- creasing in size and in intensity; then between each stroke of my pick axe I heard plainly, in the mildst of the unnatural calm 34 tind Hilence reigning around, tlie strange and terrible noise alrealy described, the muttered thunder of which became more distinct as it drew each moment nearer. This sound resembled the confused noise of a number of cars and locomotives approach- ing a railroad station, or the rumbling of thunder, with the difference that it never ceased, but deepened in intensity each moment more and more. The spectacle of this menacing crimson in the sky, the sound of this strange and unknown voice of nature constantly augmenting in terrible majesty, seemed to endow me with super- natural strength. Whilst toiling thus stead- fastly at my task, the sound of human voices plainly audible amid the silence and species of stupor reigning around fell on my ear. They betrayed on the one liand thoughtlessness, on the other folly. Tho'ughtlcssness of some. — A neighboring American family were entertaining some friends at tea. The room which they occupied at the moment overlooked my garden, thus they could see me whilst I could as easily overhear them. More than once, the smothered laughter of some of 35 the guests, especially of the young girls, fell on my ear. Doubtless they were amusing themselves at my expense. About nine, the company dispersed, and Mi\s. Tyler, the hostess, apjn'oached me. The actions of the priest always make a certain impres- sion, even on Protestants. " Father," she questioned, ^' do you think there is any danger ?" '' I do not know," was my reply, *' but I have unpleasant presentiments, and feel myself impelled to prepare for trouble." " But if a fire breaks out, ftither, what are we to do ?" '' In that case, madam, seek the river at once." I gave her iio reasoi; for advising such a course, perhaps I had really none to oftcr, be^'ond that it w\as my innate conviction. Shortly after, Mrs. Tjder and her Aimily started in the direction of the river and were all saved. I learned later that out of the eight guests assembled at her house that evening, all perished with the excep- tion of two. The folly of others. — At a short distance from home, on the other side of the street, 36 was a tavern. Thift place liad hoen crowd- ed all day with revellers, about two hun- dred young men having arrived that sun- day morning at Peshtigo by the boat to work on the railroad. Many were scat- tered throughout the town, where they had mot acquaintances, while a large number were lodging at the tavern just mentioned. Perhaps they had passed the holy time of mass drinking and carousing there. To- wards nightfall the greater part of them were too much intoxicated to take any share in the anxiety felt by the more steady members of the community, or even to notice the strange aspect of nature. Whilst working in my garden, I saw several of them hanging about the verandah of the tavern or lounging in the yard. Their in- toxicated condition was plainly revealed by the manner in which they quarrelled, wrestled, rolled on the ground, filling the air the while with wild shouts and horrid blasphemies. When hastening through the street, on my way to the river at the moment the storm burst fortli, the wind impelled me in the direction of this house. A death-like 37 silence novv^ roigncd within it, as if reason had been restored to the inmates, or fear had suddenly j-jenetrated to their hearts. With- out shout or word tliey re-entered the phace, closing the doors as if to bar death out — a few moments later the house was swept away. What became of them I know not. After finishing the digging of the trench I placed within it my trunks, books, church ornaments, and other valuables,covering the whole with sand to a depth of about afoot. Whilst still engaged at this, my servant, who had collected in a basket several pre- cious objects in silver committed to my charge, such as crosses, medals, rosaries, etc., ran and deposited them on the steps of a neighboring store, scarcely conscious in her trouble of what she was doing. She hastily returned for a cage contain- ing her canary, which the wind, however, almost immediately tore from her grasp — , and breathless with haste and terror she called to me to leave the garden and fly. The wind, fore-runner of the tempest, was increasing in violence; the redness in the sky deepening ; and the roaring sound like 38 tluiiidcr soomod Jilmost upon uh. It was now lime to think of llio JMo.ssud vSucra- mcnt — oljjoct of all objects, j^rccious, price- loss, especially in the eyes of a priest. It liad never been a moment absent from my thoughts, for of course I liad intended from the first to brinix i^ with me. Has- tening then to the chamber containing the tabernacle, I ])roceeded to oj^en the latter, but the key,owing to my haste, slipi^edfrom my fingers and fell. Tliere was no time for farther delay, so I caught up the tabernacle with its contents and carried it out, placing it in n\y wagon as I knew it would be much easier to draw it thus than to bear it in my arms. My tliought was that I should meet some one who would helj) me in the task. I re-entered to seek the chalice which had not been placed in the tabernacle, when a strange and startling phenomenon met my view. It was that of a cloud of sparks that blazed up here and there with a sharp detonating sound like that of powder ex- ploding, and flew from room to room. I understood then that the air was saturated with some special gas, and I could not help thinking if this gas lighted up from more 31) contact with a breath of hot wind, what would it ho when lire would come in actual contact with it. The circumstance, th()u«^li menacing enough, inspired me with no fear, my safety seemed already assured. Out- side the door, in a cage attached to the wall, was a jay that I had had in my ])ossession for a long time. The instinct of birds in foreseeing a storm is well known, and my poor ydy was fluttei'ing wildly routid his cage, beating against its bars as if seek- ing to escape, and uttering shrill notes of alarm. I grieved for its fate but could do nothing for it. The lamps were burning on the table, and I thought, as I turned away, how soon their gleam would bo eclipsed in the vivid light of a terrible conllagration. I look on the peculiar, indeed almost childish frame of mind in which I then found myt-elf, as most providential. It kept up my courage, in the ordeal through which I was about to pass, veiling from me in great part its horror and danger. Any other mental condition, though per- haps more in keeping with my actual posi- 40 tion would have paralyzed my strongtli and sealed my fate. ' I vainly called my dog who, diBobeying the yiimmons, concealed himself under my Led, only to meet death there later. Then I hastened out to open the gate so as to bring forth my wagon. Barely had I laid hand o:i it, when the wind heretofore violent rose suddenly to a hurricane, and quick as lightning opened the way for my egress from the yard by sweeping plank's, gate and fencing away into space. " The road is open," I thought, " w^e have only to start. The Generul Flight. — I had delayed my depi* ;-e too long. It would be impossible to detscribe the trouble I had to keep my feet, to breathe, to retain hold of tbo buggy which the wind strove to tear from my grasp, or to keep the tabernacle in its place. To reach the river even unencum- bered by any charge, was more than niany fcjucceeded in doing, everal failed, perisldng in the attempt. How I arrived at it is even to this day a mystery to myself. The air was no longer fit to breathe, full as it was of sand, dust, ashes, cinders, sparks, 41 sinoke and fire. It was almost impossible to kcej) one's eyes iincloised, to distinguish the road, or torecognizopeoj)le, though the "vvay was crowded with pedestrians, as wel as vehicles crossing and crashing against each other in the ueiieral tliij-ht. Some were luistening towards the river, others from it, whilst all were struggling alike in the grasp of the hurricane. A thousand discordant deafening noises rose on the air together The neighing of horses, falling of chim- neys, crashing of uprooted trees, roaring and wliistling of the wind, cracklingof tire as it ran with lightning like-rapidity from liouse to house, all sounds were there save tliat of tlie liuman voice. People seemed stricl'ien dumb b}' terror. They jostled each other without exchanging look, word or counsel. The silence of the tomb reigned among the living, nature alone lifted up its voice and spoke. Though meeting crowded vehicles taking a direction quite opposite to that which I myself was following, it never even entered my mind that it woidd perhaps be better for me to follow them. Probably it was the same thing with them. We all hurried blindly- on to our fate. 42 Almost with the first slops tal^en in the street the wind overturned anddrao-p'od me with the wagon close to the tavern as already mentioned. Father on, I was again throwji down over some motionless object lying* on the earth; it proved to be a woman and a little girl, both dead. I raised a head that fell back heavily as lead. Witli a long- breath I rose to my feet, but only to be Inirled down again. Fartljer on I met my horse wliom I had set free in the street. Whether he recognized me — whether he was ill that sj^ot by chance, I cannot say, but whilst struggling anew to my feet, I felt his head leaning on my shoulder. He was trembling in every limb. I called him by name and motioned him to follow nu", but he did not move. He was found j^artly consumed by fire in the same place. Arrived near the river, we saw that the houses adjacent to it were on fire, whilst the wind blew the flames and cinders direct- ly into the water. The place was no longer fiafe. I resolved then to cross to the other side though the bridge was already on fire. The latter presented a scene of indescril able and awful confusion, each one thinking they 43 could attain safety on the other side of tlie river. Those ^vho lived in the east were hnrrying towards the west, and those who dwelt in that west were wildly pushing on to the east so that the bridge was thorough- Iv encumbered with cattle, vehicles, women, children and men, all pushing and crushing against each other so as to find an issue from it. Arrived amid the crowd on the other side, I resolved to descend tlie river, to a certain distance below the dam, where I knew the shore was lower and the water shallower, but this 1 found impossible. The saw mill on the same side, at the angle of the bridge, as well as the lar^-e store be- longing to the company standing opposite across the road, were both on fire. The flames from these two edifices met across the road, and none could traverse this fiery passage without meetingwith instantdeath. I was thus obliged to ascend the river on the left bank, above the dam, where the water gradually attained a great depth. After placing a certain distance between myself and the bridge, the fall of which 1 momentarily expected, I pushed my wagon containing the Tabernacle as far into the 44 water as possible. It was all that I could do. irenceforth I had to look to the sav- ing of ray life. The whirlwind in its con- tinual ascension had, so to speak, worke diip the smokCj dust and cinders, so that, at least, we could see clear l)efore us. The banks of the river as far as the eye could rCiXh were covered with people standing there, motionless as statues, some with eyes staring, upturned towards heaven, and tongues protruded. The greater number seemed to have no idea of taking any steps to procure their safety, imagiidng, as many afterwards acknowledged to me, that the end of the world had arrived and that there was nothini>' for them but silent submission to their fiitc. — AVithout utterino; a word — the etlbrts I had made in dragging my wagon with me in my fli^•ht had left me me perfectly breathless, besides the violence of the storm entirely prevented any thing like speech — I pushed the persons stand- ing on each side of me into the water. One of these sprang back again with a half smothei'ed cry, murmuring : '' I am wet ;" but immersion in water Ava?^ better than immersion in fire. I caught him again and 45 dragged him out witli mc into the river as far as possible. At the same moment I heard a plasl) of the water along the river's brink. All had followed my example. It was time; the air was no longer fit for inhalation, whilst the intensit}' of the heat was increasinii: A few minutes more aiul no living thing could have resisted its tier}'' breath. Ill the water, — It was about ten o'clock when w^e entered into the river. When doing so I neither knew the length of time w^e would be oblii^ed to remain there, nor wdiat would ultimately happen to us, yet, wonderful to relate, my fate had never caused me a moment of- anxiety from the time that, yielding to the involuntary im- pulse warning me to prepare for danger, I Iiad resolved on directing my flight towards the river. Since then I had remained in the same careless frame of mind, which permitted me to struggle against the most insuperable obstacles, to brave the most ap])alling dangers, without ever seeming to remember tiiat my ii fe might pay the forfeit. Once in water up to oui* necks, I thought we would at least be safe froni lire, but it 46 was not so ; the flames darted over the river as they did over land, the air was full of them, or rather the air itself was on fire. Our heads were in continual danger. It was on \y by t ^rowing water constantl}^ over them and our faces, and beating the river with our hands, that we kept the flames at bay. Clothing- and quilts had been thrown into the river, to save them, doubtless, and they were floating all around. I caught at some that came witliin reach and covered vrith them, the heads of the persons who were leaning against or clinging to me. These wraps dried quickly in the furnace-like heat and caught fire when ever we ceased spring- ling them. The terrible whirl wind that had burst over ns at the moment I was leav- ing home had, with its continually revolv- ing circle of opposing winds, cleared the atmosphere. The river was as bright, brighter than by day, and the spectacle pre- sented by these heads rising above the level of the water, some covered, some uncovered^ the countless hands employed in beating the waves, was singular and painful in the ex- treme. So free was I from the fear and anxie- ty that might naturally have been expected 47 to reign in my mind at such a moment, that I actually perceived only the ludicrous side of the scene at times and smiled within m}'- self at it. When turninii: my [^azo from the river I chanced to look either to the right or left, before me or upwards, I saw nothing but flames ; houses, trees and the air itself were on fire. Above m v head, as far as the eye could reach into space, alas ! too bril- liantly lighted, I saw nothing but immense volumes, of flames covering the firmament, rolling one over the other with stormy violence as we see masses of clouds driven wildly hither and thither by the fierce j^o^ver of the tempest. Near me, on the bank of the river, rose the store belonging to the factory, a largo three story building, filled with tubs,buckets and other articles. Sometimes the thought crossed m3Mnind that ifthe wind happened to change, we shoukl be buried beneath the blazing ruins of this place, but still the supposition did not cause me much appre- hension. When I Avas entering the water, this establishment w^as just taking fire ; the work of destruction was speedy, for, in less than a quarter of an hour, the large beams 48 were lyi]i;[( blazliii^ on the ground, wliile the rest of the building was cither burned or 8we])t off' into space. Incidents of the fire, — ^ot far from nie a woman was supporting herself in the water by means of a log. After a time a cow swam past. Tliere were more than a dozen of these animals in tlie river, impelled thither by instinct, and they succeeded in saving their lives. The first mentioned one overturned in its passage the log to which the woman was clinging and she disappear- ed into the water. 1 thought her lost ; but soon saw her emerge from it holding on. with one hand to the horns of the cow, and throwing water on her head Avith the other. lEow loi^g she remained in this critical position I know not, but I was told Later that the animal had swam to the shore, bearing her human burden safely with her; and, what threatened to bring destruction to the woman had proved the means of her salvation. At the moment I Vv^as entering the river, another woman, territied and breathless, reached its bank. She was leading one child by the hand, ujid held pressed to her 49 breast wliat appcarc:ht in other c ire am- stances have felt annoyed at such public manifestations of devotion, but in this hour of common peril, all hearts involuntarily turned towards heaven as their only re- source. There were no tokens'of incredu- lity, impiety or bigotry evinced by any. The Protestants who were present, b.eing unacquainted with the Catholic formula of prayer, could not unite their supplications with those of the latter, but they encour- aged them to continue their devotions, and when they paused, solicited them to re- commence. Danger is a successful teacher, its influence immediate and irresistible. No reasoning succeeds so q[uickly in mak- 63 mp; men compreliend the greatness of God and their own insignifk'.aiiee, llisalinighty power and tJieir own lielplcssness. Naught else detaclies souls so completely from earth and raises them towards II im on whom we all depend. The preceding de- tails, furnished hy individuals coming and going from the boats, were full of interest to me. Durincf this time I remained with my kind host Mr. Garon, being too ill to even leave the house. The kind attentions of which I was the object soon restored mo in some degree to health. Tuesday evening, I was able to visit several persons who had been injured more or less grievously by fire, and to prepare the dying lor their last end, as far as lay in my power, in the total absence of every thing neces- sary on the sad occasion. Feeling strong enough, I resolved to return to Peshtigo on Tuesday night, and commenced my |)repara- tions. The clothes I wore had been greatly injured by my long sojourn in tlje water, and I would willingly have replaced them, but found this impossible. The storekeepers, fearing a similar misfortune to that which had over taken the merchants of Peshtigo, 04 had packed up tho greater part of their mer- chandize and buried it. I could get nothing save a suit of coarse yellow material Buch as workmen wear whilst engaged in saw mills. In the absence of something better it had to answer, and about ten o' clock at night I went on board a steamboat about leaving for Green Bay, calling previously, however, at Peshtigo. The night was very stormy, and it was only about day- break that we ventured to land, the water being very rough when we reached Peshtigo, land- ing which was about nine or ten in the morn- ing. I remained there onl}^ a few hours, dur- ing which time I visited the sick beds of several victims of the conflagration. Return to Peshtigo. — About one o'clock in the afternoon a car was leaving for Peshtigo, conveying thither men who went daily tliere for the purpose of seeking out and burying the dead. I took my place with them. The locomotives belonging to tho company having being burned, were now rojilacod by horses, and we progressed thus till we came up with the track of the fire. We walked the rest of the way, a distance o^ half a lenguc, and this gave me ample G5 opportunity for examining thoroughly tho devastation and ruin wrought, both by fii'o and wind. A his, much as I had heard on tho sad subject, I was still un])roparcd tor the melancholy spectacle that met my gaze. The fiehl of battle.— It is a painful thing to have to speak of scenes which we feel con- vinced no pen could fully describe nor words do justice to. It was on the eleventh of October, Wed- nesday afternoon, that I revisited for the first time the site of what had once been tho town of Peshtigo. Of the houses, trees, fences that I had looked on three days ago nothing whatever remained, save a few blackened posts still standing, as if to attest the impetuous fury of the fiery element that had thus destroyed all before it. Wherever the foot chanced to fall it rested on ashes. The iron tracks of the railroad had been twisted and curved into all sorts of shapes, whilst the wood which had supported them, no longer existed. The trurdw of mighty trees had been reduced to mere cinders, the blackened hearts alone remaining. All around these trunks, I perceived a number of holes ninniii<{; downwards deep in the earth. They wei-e the sockois whore the roots had lately been. T pluTio;ed my cane into one of them, thinking what must the violence of that fire have been which ravaged not only the Hurfaee of the earth, but ])enetrated so deeply into its bosom. Then I turned my wondering gaze in the direction where the town had lately stood, but nothing remained to point out its site except the boilers of the two locomotives, the iron of the wagon wheels, and the brick and stone work of the factory All the rest was a desert the desolation of which was suflicient to draw tears from the eyes of the spectator — a desert recalling a field of bat tic after a sanguinary conflict. Charred carcasses of horses, cows, oxen and other animals lay scattered here and there. The bodies of the human victims, men, wo- men and children, had been already collected and decently interred — their number being easily ascertained by counting the rows of freshly-made graves. To find the streets was a difficult task, and it Avas not without considerable trouble that I succeeded at length in ascertaining the site where my 67 house had lately stood. My next care was to look for the spot where I had buried uiy trunks and other vahuibles. This I dis- \ covered by means of the shovel which I had employed in di<^'ging the trench and which I had thrown to a short distance, my task completed. There it still lay, half of the handle burned off, the rest in good order, and I employed it once again to disinter my eilects. On moving the fiand, a disagreeable odour, somewiiat re- sembling that of brimstone, exhaled ironi g, it. My linen appeared at the first glaiKo to be in a state of perfect preservation, having kept even its whiteness wit!) ttio exception of the pleats, which weie Kome wdiat discolored, but on touching jt, it tell to pieces as if the substjiiico i.ad been consumed by some slow j)C'.'iiliar ])rr)cess, or traversed b}^ electric- ly.-- \V;iii:U touching on this subject we ma)- add lliat many felt a shock of eartlnjuake at tl-.e moment that everthing on the surhicc of the earth was trembling before liio violence of the hurri- cane. Ileie again was a total loss A few calcined bricks, melted crystal, with crosses and crucilixes more or less dee- 68 trojccl, alone pointed out where my bouse had once been, while the charred remains of my poor dog indicated the site of my bedroom. I followed then the road lead- ing from my house to the river, and which was the one I had taken on the night of the catastrophe. There, the carcasses of animals were more numerous than else- where, especially in the neighborhood of the bridge. I saw the remains of my j)oor horse in the sj)ot where I had last met him, but so disfigured b}^ the fiery death through which he had passed that I had some difficulty in recognizing him. Those wdio have a horse, and appreciate the valuable services he renders them, will not feel surprised at my speaking twice of mine. There exists between the horse and his master a species of friendship akin to that which unites two friends, and which in the man frequently survives the death of his four-footed companion. Whilst wandering among the ruins I met several persons, with some of whom I entered into conversation. One was a bereaved father, seeking his missing chil- dren of whom hehad as yet learned noth- 69 ing. ''If, at least," he said to me, with a look of indescribable anguish, " I conld find their bones, but the wind has swept away whatever the lire spared." Children wore seeking for their parents, brothers for their brothers, husbands for their wives, but I saw no women amid this scene of horror which it would have been almost impossible for them to contemplate. The men, I met, those sorrowful seekers for the dead, had all suitered more or less in the battle against wind and fire. Some had had a hand burned, others an arm or side ; all were clothed in blackened, ragged garments, appearing, each one from his look of woeful sadness and miserable condi- tion, like a ruin among ruins. They point- ed out to me the places where they had found such and such individuals : there a mother lay prone on her face, pressing to her bosom the child she had vainly striven to save from the devouring element; here a whole family, father, mother and children, lying together, blackened and muti- lated by the fire fiend. Among the ruins of the boarding house belonging to the company, more than seventy bodies 70 were found, disfigured to such a fearful extent that it was impossible to tell either their age or sex. Farther on twenty more had been drawn from a well. One of the workmen engaged in the construction of the church was found, knife in hand, with his throat cut, two of his children lying beside him in a similar condition; while his wife lay a little farther off, having evidently been burned to death." The name of this man was Towsley, and during the whole summer he had worked at the church of Peshtigo. Doubtless seeing his wife fall near him, and becoming convinced of the utter impossibility of escaping a fiery death, his rnind became troubled, and he put an end to -his own existence and that of his children. There were several other similar cases of suicide arising from the same sad causes. These heartrending accounts, combined with the fearful desolation that met my gaze wherever it turned, froze my veins with horror ! A rope wanted to hang a scoundrel — Alas ! that I should have to record an incident such as should never have happened in he 71 midst of that woeful scene ! Whilst strug- gling with the painful impressions pro- duced in my mind by the s^^ectacle on which I looked, my attention was attracted to another quarter by the sound of voices, raised in loud excitement. The cause of the tumult was this. In the midst of the universal consternation j^ervading all minds, a man was found degraded enough to insult not only the general sorrow and mourning but also death itself. Enslaved by the wretched vice of avarice, he had just been taken in the act of des^^oiling the bodies of the dead of whatever objects the fire had spared. A jury w^as formed, his punishment put to the vote, and he was unanimously condemned to be banged on the spot. But where was a rope to bo found ? the fire had spared nothing. Some- body proposed substituting for the former an iron chain Avhich had been employed for drawing logs, and one was accordingly brought and placed around the criminal's neck Execution Avas difficult under the circumstances; and whilst the jn-epara- tions dragged slowly on, the miserable man loudly implored mercy. The pity inspired 72 by the mournful siiiTOUiidings Boftened at length the hearts of the judges, and, after having made him crave pardon on his knees for the sacrilegious thefts of which he had been guilty, they allowed him to go free. It may have been that tliey merely intend- ed frightening him. Weary of noise and tumult, and longing for solitude, I left my previous companions, and followed for a considerable distance that road to Oconto on which I had seen so many vehicles entering, turning their backs on the river to which I was hastening with the Tabernacle. I had not gone far be- fore I saw much more than I w^ould have desired to sec. All in this line had perished, and perished in masses, for the vehicles were crowded with unforl Jiatcs who, flying from death, had met it all the sooner and in its most horrible form. In those phices where the flames had enfolded their victims in their fiery clasp, nothing now was to be seen but calcined bone«, charred mortal remains and the iron circles of the wheels. It was with some difliculty that the human relics could be distinguished from those of tjie horses. The workmen of the com_pany 73 wore employed in collecting these sad memorials and burying tliem by the way- side, there to remain till such time as the friends of the dead might wish to reclaim and inter them in a more suitable maimer. I left them at their mournful task, and returned to the site where our church had so lately stood. There also all was in asheS; nothing remaining save the church bell. The latter had been thrown a dis- tance of lifty feet, one half was now lying there intact, wdiile the other part had melted and spread over the sand in silvery leaves. The voice of this bell had been the last sound heard in the midst of the hurricane. Its lugubrious note yet seems at times to strike on my ear, reminding me of the horrors of wliich it was a fore- runner. The graveyard lay close to the church, and I entered and waited there; for I expected momentarily the arrival of a funeral. It was that of a youni>- man wdio had died the evening ])revious, in consequence of the terrible burns he had received. ISTevcr was burial service moro u poverty-stricken nor priewt more utterly destitute of till things necessary for the performance of the sad ceremony. Nor church, nor house, nor surplice, stole nor hreviary: nothing save prayer and a heartfelt benediction. I had felt this destitution still more keenly on two or three jn'cvious occasions when asked by the dying for the saci'ament of Extreme Unction, which it was out of my power, alas ! to administer to them. 1 left the graveyard with a heavy heart, and turned my steps in the direction of the river, which I had to cross in order to seek for my tabernacle with whose ultimate fate I was uiuicquainted. A bright ray of consola- tion awaited me and seldom was consola- tion more needed. The Tabernacle. — I crossed the river on the half-charred beams of the bridge which had been joined together, so as to oflter a meaus of passage, though a very perilous one, to those who chose to trust themselves to it. I had barely reached the other side when one of my parishioneis hastened to meet me, joyfully exclaiming : ''Father, do you know what has ha]>pened to your ttiberna(;lc ?" 75 ''No, what in it?" '' Come quickly then, find see. Oli ( lilt her, it is a groat miriich'. !" I hurried with him to iliat part of tlie river into which I had pnslied as far as possible n\y wagon containing tlie taher- nacle. This wagon had been blown over on its side by the storm ; whilst the taber- nacle itself liad been caught up by the wind and cast on one of t]»e logs floatini^ on the water. Everything in the immediate vicinity of this spot had l)een blackened or cliarred by the tlames; logs, trunks, boxes, nothing had escaped, yet strange to sa}^ there rose the tabernacle intact in its snovvy whiteness, presenting a wonderful contrast to the grimy blackness of the surrounding objects. I let! it in the spot where it had thus been tlirown by the tempest for two days, so as to give all an opportunity of seeing it. Numbers came, though of course in that time of horror and desolation there were many too deeply engrossed with their own private griefs to pay attention to aught else. The Catholics generally regarded the fact as a miracle, and it was spoken of near and far, attracting great attention. 7G Alas! nothing is more evanescent than the sal 111 nry impressions pro(hice(l on the mind of man by divine blessings or punish- ments. Time, and the pre-oceupations of life, elTaee even the very remembrance of tliem. How few there are among the rare sni'vivors of the tire that swept Peshtigo from the face of the earth wlio still see the power of God in the calamity' that then pverwhelmed them, as well as in the pre- servation of the tabernacle, events which at the time of their occurrence made so deep an impression on their minds. When the duties which had detained me three days amid these mournful scenes were completed,! took the tabernacle from the place which it had occupied of late and sent it on to Marinette where I intended soon saying mass. When the right time arrived, 1 forcibly opened the tiny door. There — circumstance as wonderful as the preservation of the tabernacle in the midst of the conflagration — I found the conse- crated Host intact in the monstrance whi'e the violent concussions the jCiborium must have undergone had not caused it even to open. Water had not penetrated 77 witliin, and the flamoR luid rei=«pectc(l tlio interior as Ave 11 as exterior; even to the nilky tissue lining the sides. All was in a state of perfect preservation ! These sacred objects, thou<^h possessing' in reality but little intrinsic value, are nevei'theless priceless in my eyes. I prize them us most precious relics, and never look at or touch them without feeling penetrated with sentiments of love and veneration such as no other holj^ vessels, however ^'ich and beautiful, could awake within me. In the little chapel at Marin- ette, which replaces the church burned there more tlian two years ago, the same tabernacle is on the altar and contains the same monstrance and Ciborium which were so wonderfully preserved from the flames, and daily, during the holy sacrifice, I use them Avith a species of religious triumph as trojihies of God's exceeding mercy snatched so marvellously from destruction. T must beg my readers to return with me for a little while to the banks of the Peshtigo river — but not to linger there long. Before removing the tabernacle, I ^8 was busily occupied three days and two nights, now in seeking for the dead, then in taking up from the water various objects whicli I had thrown by armsful, at the moment of leaving my house, into the wagon and which had been overturned with it into the river. The most precious of all these was the chalice, which I was fortunate enough to find, together with the paten. My search was greatly facilitated by the opening of the dam and letting out of the waters which were here fifteen or twenty feet in depth. This step was necessary for the finding of the corpses of those persons who, either seized by cramps or drawn in b}' the current, had been drowned during the night of the hurricane. For the space of these three days our only habitation was the tent, the shelter of which had been so arbitrarily refused mo the preceding Monday. It covered us during our meals, which we took standing, and as best we could, and during the night protected the slumbers of those who could sleej:), a thing I found impossible. Our beds were made on a most economical plan — the river sand formed our substitute 79 for maltrassoR, — and a single blanket con- stituted our covering. During thin period I first learned the fale of the city of Chicago. A physician come from Fond du lac, to attend to the sick and burned, bronght a newspa])er with him, and in it we read of tlie terri])le ravages wrought l)y fire, on the same niglit, and, strange to say, about the the same hour, not only at Peshtigo but in many other different places and above all at Chicago. This great conflagration at Chicago, proclaimed to the world by the myriad voices of journal and telegraph, created far and wide an immense out-burst of compassion in favor of the unfortunate city, diverting entirely the general atten- tion from the far more appalling calamities of which we had been the hapless victims. On the afternoon of Friday, the lP»th, I had nbout finished my la])ors on the (Jeso- late banks of the Peshtic:o river. The corpses found had all been decently inter- red, and the sick and maimed carried to dif- ferent places of safety. Exhausted with fatigue and privation, T felt I could not bear up much longer, and accordingly took — -'80' place in a wagon that had broiicrht lis sup]>li(.is, and was now rotm'ninij; to Oconto ii) which latter town I had Irionds who were awaiting my arrival with friendl}- im- patience. I enjoyed two da}'8 of rest at the residence of Father Vermore, the excel- lent parish priest of the French church. Monday foUowing 1 left ibr Green Bay to visit Ins Lordshi[), Bishop Melcher, dead, alas! even Jiow whilst I write these lines. As often happens in such cases, the most contradictory rumoi's had been circulated with regard to myself. Some declared that 1 had been burned in the church whither [ had gone to pray a moment previous to the outburst of the storm, others asserted that I had met a iiery death in my own abode, whilst many were equally positive that I had perished in the river. On seeing me the Bishop, who had natur- ally^ been rendered anxious by these con" tradictory reports, eagerl}^ exclaimed : ^' Oh ! at last ! I have been so troubled about you 1 Why did you not write?" ^' My Lord, I could not," was my replj^, '^ 1 had neither pen, ink, nor paper, nothing but river water," 81 TIo ^(enoroiiRl}^ ofTerod mc ovory tliin,*:^ I ro(jiiircMl, (mIImm* IVom his lilM'jiry or wanl- robe, bill 1 doclinod the kind oflbi*, as there were still a number of my parishioners on the river Mononiie and it was for them to lielp me, not him. Jle then wished to a])- j)oint me to another parish, deehirin^ tiiat I merited repose after all I had endured, and that a farther sojourn amoni;- my ])(H)ple, pool" and decimated in nmnber, would be only a continuation of sulfering* and hard toil. iJenuMnberin^, however, that my parishion- ers would be thus left without a priest at a time when the ministrations of one would be doubly necessary to them, recalling, also, how much better it was that their ])Overty and privations should be shared b}" one who knew and loved them, I solicited and obtained })ermission to remain amonc; my flock. Soon, however, the sulferin";s I had endured began to tell on my constitution ; and to such an extent, that, having been invited by the Rev. Mr. Crud, parish priest of Green Bay, to preach on All Saints, he was told b}^ Bishop Melcher he must not count on me as my brain was seriously injured 82 by the fiery ordeal thvoun;h which T had passo(L T cannot well say whether this was really the case, I only knoAvthal I was terribly feeble, and ho])in<>; that a few months' repose might restore my liealth, I resolved to travel, determined to make the trip conducive at the same time to the wel- fare of my im])Ovcrished ])arishes. My first intention was to visit Louisiana returning l)y the East, but I was destined soon to learn that m}' strenGjlh was unc(jual to the task. Arrived at St. Louis, I was at- tacked l)y a fever that ke])t me confined to bed each day for three or four liours, and which made sad inroads on the small stock* of health left me. Accordingly I went no farther. The kind people of St. Louis showed me a great deal of s) m])athy, and I made friends among them whom 1 can never forget, and whom meeting with once more would be a source of great pleasure. 1 will not mention their naines liere, but ihey are written on my heart in inefface. able characters. I can do nothing myself to pi'ove my gratitude, but I will whis])er tlieir names to our most powerful and most clement Lady of Lourdes, in her (hurch of 83 Miirijiette, and «he will atone for my incapacity. Having mentioned tlie claims of the in- habitant.s of St. Louis on my gratitude, it would be unjust on m}^ part to pass in silence over those of my own parishioners and friends in Wisconsin, who spontaneously offered me lielj) in my first moments of distress. Ah, they are not forgotten ! Very > })leasant is it to recall these warm expres- sions of sympathy, springing directly froin the heart. Amongst many similar traits, well do I remembei' the words of a friend in Oconto who, wishing me to acccjjt decent garments to replace those wdiich I had brouiirht back from the conliaii'ration ex- clamed on my persistent refusal, " I insist for well I know that, if I happened to be in yo'u* i^lace, you woulvith them. It would be impossible to decide what was the cause 86 of their (Iciitli. It may luivo been owing to the intcnsitv of the heat, the want of air Jieeessary to respiration — tJie air being violently sueked in by the current tending upwards to that fierce focus of fianie — or they may liave been kilkd by some poison- ous gas. Gan, — It is more than probabk^ that for a moment the air was impi'egnated with an inflammabk) gas most destructive to human Hfe. I have ah'cady mentioned the tiny gk)buk)s of tire flying about my house at the moment I quitted it. Whilst on my way to the river, I met now and then gusts of an air utterly unlit for respiration, and was obliged on these occasions to throw myself on the ground to regain my breath, unless already prostrated involuntarily by the violence of the wind. Whilst standimr in the river I had ne number will ever remain unknown. AuK^Ui;' those who oseaped from tlie aVfiil seouri;'e, man}^ liave sineo died, owing to tlu^ hardshi]>s then endured, whilst others are dro])ping off da}' l>y day. A physieian l)elonging to Green Bay has predieted that before ten }'ears alT the unfortunate survivors of that tei'rible eatas- troplie, will have j)aid tlie debt of natui'e, vietims of the irreparable injury inflieted on their eonstitutions by smoke, air, water and fii'e. If the predietion eontinues to be as faithfully realized in the future as it has been in the past, my tui'n will also come. May the construction of the Chui-cli of Our Lady of Lourdes, at Marinette, be then completed, so that some grateful hearts may pray there for the repose of my soul I CONCLUSION. "Whilst pasning through Indiana on my way to St. Louis, barely two months after the catastrophe of wliiehl have endeavored to rehite a few (k;tails, [ saw a notice in a jour- nal of (hat ])\t\vo to the effect that a Protest- ant gentleman was to give a public lecture that veiy evening on the great event. The subject of the discourse was ; The fires of our day a faliliful picture of that fire which shall consume the earth at the end of time. The topic was so full of interest to me that I ros(^lved to dela}^ my journey so as t(^ assist at the lecture. There was but a small audience present, so true is it that mankind is to-da}^ what mankind was in the time of Noah, and will be till the last hour, inditferent to all the warnings of heaven. The learned lecturer after much labori- ous research, had collected many impor- tant facts relating to the great fires of the past, and corroborating his words twice by quoting passages from some descriptive 91 arliclos of my own ])ublishtMl in tlio jour- nals, jn'ocoedod to show how much severer in character were tlie fires of our (hiys, whicli, in the strange fierceness of their nature, seemed to he a foreshadowing and image of tliat which will consume the earth on the last day. And ti'uly we may see in this wild confusion of the elements, roaring of tempests, trembling of the earth, this land and sky in flames, with men looking on, stupefied and withering with fear, a realization of the vivid description given b}^ Holy Writ of the end of the world. But why these warnings? And why are they sent so uiie(|ually to nations equally guilty ? Ah ! who can sound the ways of Provi- dence ? Perhaps is it because God is often lost sight of in the present day, especially by those who know and consequently ought to serve Him. Do not numbers of Catholics work, act, in a word, live as if they had neither a Creator to obey, a Saviour to love, nor a soul to save? And if it be true that (jJod created man, if it be true t hat He descended on earth to redeem Jiim, Ho surely pobsobscs the strictest claims on 02 tliin crciitiirc of llis buiiuty. Those chiims being eoiistiiutly ignored and Inunpled under foot, our feeble reason itself will tell us that Providence must occasionally recall them to our minds and proclaim them as it were by those great catastrophes which l)rove at the same time that lie is, despite what we may do or say, our Lord and Master, and that we are bound to treat Him as such. AVas it not thus that He acted in former times towards His chosen people when they became ungrateful and prevari- cating? The sovereignty of God over man and the duty of man towards God, are the same to-day as under the Old Law. Unquestionably, forgetfulness of these obligations seems to be almost a general thing to-day, but at the same time where is the nation or people really exempt from these chastisements ? God's scourges may be varied, but they make themselves felt everywhere. If His justice seems to weigh more heavily on some than on others, if His voice sounds more menacing and terrible here than elsewhere, it is perhaps because He wishes that this punishment of II siiiall numljcr may atford a salutary 93 lesson to millions of oUioi'S who, torrified by so formidable a display of Almighty Power, may hasten to return to the way of salvation. When lie rained down fire and brimstone on Sodom of old, the Bible does not say that Sodom was the only city deserving of such a fate. In the calamity, awful as that of Sodom, which iias over- taken Peshtigo. town, perhaps not more guilty than others that have nevertheless been s])ared, Peshtigo may be looked on as a modern Sodom in the sense that it can serve as an example to all. ^' Et nunc reges intelligite, erudimi qui judicatis terram." (Ps. 11.) "And now, O ye kings, understand: re- ceive instruction you that judge the earth. Serve ye the Lord with fear, and rejoice unto him with trembling. Embrace dis- cipline, lest at any time the Lord be angry, and you perish from the just way. When his wrath shall be kindled in a short time, biossed are all they that trust in him!" * APPENDIX. Tlie preceding' sliort luiiTcative is not so much a description of a terrible calaniity, as an account of what I saw and suffered in person durini^ that time of terror. If I have expressed myself with due perspi- cuity, the reader must have seen as clearly as I have done the finger of God through- out. I know 1 will gratify many by add- ing to the above recital a relation of a fact demonstrating with equal clearness tlie in- tervention of the Blessed Virgin, in favor of those who place their confidence in her. The event took phice during another storm of wind and fire, similar to that which on the same night and at the same hour overwhelmed us atPeshtigo, but at nine or ten lengues distance from the latter town, farther se]^arated from it by the waters of Green Bay. I must necessarily abridge details and be guarded in my words so as to avoid wound- ing the modesty of the persoiuiges men- tioned in this recital, many of whom are still living and may hiter read these pages. Near Green Bay,on a ])romontory stretch- ing towards the north-east, between Lake Michigan and Green Bay, dwells a colony of Belgians. Their number is generaUy eomputod as ranging from eight to tcii 95 thousand souls. They are a religious, simple and industrious pooj)le, though the greater part of them seem very indifferent with re- gard to procuring for their children that in- struction which they h 5ve never received themselves. Among them dwells an unmar- ried female of about forty years of a;^e, poor in point of fortune and ph3'sical attractions but rich in grace and virtue. Her name is Adele Brissc. Those who knew her during her childhood in Belgium assured me she had always distinguished herself by her fervent piety, ardent love of her neigh- bor, and unbounded coniidence in the Blessed Virgin. To-day, all those who have any intercourse with her perceive at once that time has only developed and strength- ened more fully these virtues in her heart. Ten or twelve years ago, the colony pos- sessed no resident priest, and this fervent Catholic set out early every Sunday morn- ing on foot, and walked to the neighl)oring parish, seven miles and a-half distant, approached the sacraments, heard Mass and returned in all haste to resume her duties inherhumbl home. She was returning one morning, after having approached the Blessed Eucharist. All at once she perceived above the middle of the little path she was following through the woods, a Lady of great beauty and majes- tic mien^ who stood as if suspended between • . - 96 • • two trccH, bordering the path. Surprised andgretitly moved, tlioiigh not terrified, aho fell on her knees, uttered a short prayer, then rose to her feet a/2:ain. She made no menticm to her companions of what she had seen, hut they had witnessed her emotion, divined the cause, and the mysterious mani- festation, began to be talked about. The week following, Adele Brisse walked as usual to the neighboring parish to fulfil her religious duties, returning from massaccom- pjinied by a number of her companions when the same apparition appeared to her at the same place. This second mysterious ajipearance was greatly commented on, and viewed in different lights by different people. Some wondered, some laughed ; but no one really believed that the Blessed Virgin had manifested herself to a girl but little differ- ent in most things from girls of her station. Still many resolved they would accompany her on her next journey and judge for them- selves, which they accordingly did the following Sunday. After having confessed, communicated and heard mass, AdoleBrisee took her homeward way, accompanied this time by a numerous escort, among whom were several men. All were speaking on the topic creating at the moment so much in- terest, res Iving to watch farther develop- ments witn care, and giving at the same time their opinions, opinions no doubt • 97 vary conflicting. The pious Ar^ 'o vviis calm and untroubled, She had prii^ od fervent- ly during mass abandoning herself entirely to divine Providence. Whether the thought had been suggested to her, or whether it was* an inspiration from on High, she had resolved on addressing the beautiful appari- tion should it again present itself Arrived at the place where the Lady had already ap])cared twice, she showed herself, for the third time, more majestic and loveable than ever. The girl fell on her knees, no feeling of fear agitating her breast, but instead, a sentiment of perfect confidence, and then there ensued between herself and this ma- jestic Lady, a long conversation of which I will repeat only what is necessary to the elucidation of my subject. Adele began : '^ My good mother, what do you want of me ?" *' That you should instruct my children,' was the Lady's rejdy. Yon have just receiv- ed my Son within your breast, and 3'ou have done well, but these poor children receive Him without knowing what they do, and are growing up in ignorance of their religion. I wish you to instruct and above all pre- pare them for their first communion." " How can 1 do that, my good mother, I am but a poor ignorant creature myself ?* "Go, and fear nothing; 1 will help you,' From this moment, Adele Brisse. faithful to her mission^ was to be seen going through 9.8 the woocIb from village to village, through rain, Hnow or heat. Neither fatigue nor . ridicule made any impression upon her. She assembled as many children as possi- ble in one place, and, her instructions concluded, she went to another; wearisome and often ungrateful task, which she never- theless faithfully performed for many years. A worthy priest was at last found to take the spiritual direction of the colony, and he advised Ad61e to endeavor to collect suffi- cient funds to build a schoolhouse, where she could assemble the children around her, instead of wearing out her strength in follow- ing them through the woods. This wise counsel was acted upon. To-day she looks with pride on two little buildings most precious in her sight: a schoolhouse capa- ble of containing more than one hundred children who yearly are prepared therein for their first communion ; and a little chapel built in the place where the Blessed Virgin appeared to her, and in which is kept as a precious relic, the tree sanctified by her apparent touch. These two build- ings are in wood, plain, but clean and comfortable. They are surrounded by about six acres of land, a gift bestowed on her, which she in turn made over to the Bishop of Green Bay. These six acres are inclosed by a wooden fencCj around which winds a little path^ and it is along this little path that 99 the solemn procesRion, which takes placo twice very year at fixed epochs, passes; procession which attracts more than lour thousand pilgrims to the neighborhood. For a time, Adele Brisse sufficed for the good work slie had undertaken, but it rapidly acquired devel<)])ments which would soon have rendered it beyond her strength. Providence sent to her assistance five or six young girls, as pious as herself, who now sharo her labors, and emulate lier charitable abnegation. Such were the marvellous circumstances in which this admirable enterprise origina- ted. Now to relate a fact which will prove in a striking manner the pi'otection vouch- safed by Our LaJv to it as well as to those who placed their cotidence in her. On the 8th of October, 1871, this Belgian colony Avas ] .ited by the Fame whirlwind of wind and tire that overwhelmed Pesnti- go, and thougli the destruction of human life was less great than in the latter place, it nevertheless reduced to ashes, farms, houses and timber, covering a surface several leagues in extent. Now, w^hen the hurricane burst forth, those pious girls said between each other: '' If the Blessed Virgin still has need of us, she will protect our {ives,^i* :nojt/\<:e:nTUfn\sncoujnb;,,to the fier}5 jd'ea'th" riwttit' .ig* u^." . *'» % > ' ^ Filled with cpntidence and. rosigpfttion, "'a ' '' ^ O O « O O ') 'J - J il 1 ■• » .1 « ' « • •J J ') -, ) 1 ., .1 o « '■ • • • J . J • \> ■■' J '< :, ; i J .1 a » u J J J J o o • • 100 they haRtoncd to the cbapol, reverently raiRcd the statue of Our Lady, and kneel- ing, bore it in procession around their beloved Sanctuary, reciting their beads. When flame and v.ind blew so strongly in tlie direction of the chapel as to prevent their farther progress, unless they exposed themselves to surtbcation, they awaited a lull in the storm, or turning in another direction, continued to hope and pray. Thus passed for them the long hours of that terrible night. I know not if, su]^]>o]*ted oidy b}' nature, they would have Ikhmi able to live through that awful ordeal, but I feel convinced they could not have done it, at Peshtigo, without a miracle. Morning's light revealed the deplorable ravages wrought by the conflagration. All the houses and fences in the neighborhood had been burned, with the exception of the school, the clnipcl and fence surrounding the six acres of land consecrated to the Blessed Virgin. This paling had been charred in several places, but the fire, as if it had been a sentient being, whilst con- suming everything in the vicinity, the winding path surrounding the enclosure being only eight or ten feet witle, had res- pected this spot,, sanctified by the visible presencii ofthc Mother of Gbd, nivl, it* how shone cut Vike, aneTncndd isldiul XmUi a I < t 1 " ' t i •-■ ^ ' "•■••■ epiqriiK* sei. of ashes. Since that time, these fervent childv^n" :o'r ISlary coiitlnuo'thrrr ]a'b6r of a . , , « . V - L V a • • '.'0 101 love among tlic poor Belgians with renewed courage and confidence, strengthened by the additional proof given them during the awful night of October 8th that in doing Ro the}' are fulfilling the will of the Blessed Virgin. Importiint con s^i deration. — In relating the preceding fact I have no intention of pro- nouncing it a iniracle, no more than I would adventure to qualify as miracle the preser- vation of the tabernacle in the midst of the fires of Peshtigo. These two fucts greatly edified myself", enlivening my faith and hope, and in narrating them I have no other aim than that of edif^nng others. I have no intention either of ])assing judgment on the apparition of the Blessed Virgin and on the ])ious pilgrimages which have resulted from it. Ecclesiastical author- it}^ has not as yet spoken on the subject; it silently allows the good work to advance, awaiting perhaps some ])roof more striking and irrefutiible before pronouncing its fiat. Far from me be the thought of forestalling ecclesiastical judgment ? I have but another word to add. If it lie within the power of any of my readers to . proceed to the spot, and visit this humble place of pilgrimage, as yet mi its infancy, and thedrt^j 'MfQ, I bcli.evo, of th^' ifatuvc Jii Ihe United j^tates, f 'Cf^VrJestly com. sol 'them to go. There, they can see and quejitioy Adele Brirjse, v\ho .without ha'^ingsoiif^Jit it, istJie . > ' 102 soul and heroine of a good work, progreBsing with rapid strides from day today; and I feci assured that, like myself, and all those who have gone thither with an upright intention, they will return edified and happy at heart, if not convinced of the reality of our Lady's apparition. THE END. ' • • • - • .> * V * * • • r * *> * c • V • O ^ • •. •/ • '? <* ' <»»o .* ^". •'*«•• • • ••• »S»-.. » « « w "^ • " ' ■'^ * • • • • • • - . • 1 X- t ' • • • • • t u - - ♦ • .1 ••« i - •« • • • •> ft ^'"v