Having finished their dinners of government provisions,
cooked on the street or in the parks, the people promenade for half an
hour or so. By half-past eight the town is closed tight. A rat scurrying
in the street will bring a soldier's rifle to his shoulder. Any one not
wearing a uniform or a Red Cross badge is a suspicious character and may
be shot unless he halts at command. Even the men in uniform do well to
stop still, for it is hard to tell a uniform in the half light thrown up
by the burning town and the great shadows.
"Last night two of us ventured out on Van Ness Avenue a little late.
There came up the noise of some kind of a shooting scrape far down
the street. We hurried in that direction to see what was doing. An
eighteen-year-old boy in a uniform barred the way, levelled his rifle
and said in a peremptory way:
"'Go home.'
"We took a course down the block, where an older soldier, more
communicative but equally peremptory, informed us that we were trifling
with our lives, news or no news.
"'We've shot about 300 people for one thing or another,' he said. 'Now,
dodge trouble. Git!' That ended the expedition."
THE LOSS IN WEALTH.
If we pass now from the record of the loss of lives to that of the
destruction of wealth, the estimates exceed by far any fire losses
recorded in history.
The truth is that when flames eat out the heart of a great city, devour
its vast business establishments, storehouses and warehouses, sweep
through its centres of opulence, destroy its wharves with their
accumulation of goods, spread ruin and havoc everywhere, it is
impossible at first to estimate the loss.
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