CHILDREN AND THEIR PETS IN THE SAN FRANCISCO FIRE. BY CHARLES KEELER. In the many records that have been printed and pictured of the terrible disaster by earthquake and fire at San Francisco on April 18th last, very little has been told of the share the children of the city had in the dangers and makeshifts of that awful time. The following account was written for ST. NICHOLAS, and the photographs were made especially to illustrate it. EDITOR. "WHAT 'S the matter?" cried a whole city at once as everybody awoke with a start just before sunrise on the eighteenth of April. Houses were creaking and furniture was banging. Bricks came clattering down and walls waved to and fro as if some old giant had caught hold of them and was shaking them back and forth. Dogs ran howling up the street, looking back to see what was chasing them; horses trembled in their stalls, scrambling to keep their feet, and chickens made strange sounds like terrified screams. Thousands of children bolted from their rooms and ran with mothers and fathers to the sidewalk, while others, too frightened to move, held fast to their beds and waited in silence until the commotion was over. One little girl cried out to her mother: "I don't know what's the matter with me, Mamma, I can't stop shaking." A boy of four who had been told when naughty that Santa Claus would come and take him if he did n't behave, cried out while the house was rocking like a ship in a storm: "Oh, Mamma, Santa Claus has come for me!" Another mother hurried to her child's room where she found the empty bed covered with plaster from the ceiling. She called frantically, "Margery! Margery!" when a little head was poked from under the bed-rail and a little voice piped up reassuringly: "Here I am, Mother dear; when the plaster began to drop I thought I'd be safer under the bed." to her father as the most wonderful person in all the world. The furniture had been strewn about in confusion when he reached her bedside and picked her up. "You won't do it again, will you, Papa dear!" she said, looking at him with eyes of wonder. But another child seemed to enjoy the experience, for, when her mother leaned over her while the walls were shaking, the little girl said: "You know, Mamma, you can feel it lots better if you cuddle down in the middle of the bed." My own boy of two years was sleeping on an open porch just under a chimney, his tenyear-old sister beside him. At the first jolt I sprang to his side, freed him from the big pins that held him under the covers, and threw him in bed with his mother. Next his sister followed and then the whole little family was safe under blankets and pillows. By this time bricks were tumbling and crashing on the children's beds and the house was rocking and groaning so that I expected it to fall. When, in a minute, all was quiet again, I pulled off the covers. The boy sat bolt upright, threw back his head and laughed as if it were the best kind of a joke to be showered with bricks and have the house nearly tumbled about his ears. His big sister had heard the roar and said: "What 's the matter, is the house on fire?" This was in the town of Berkeley on the hills just opposite the Golden Gate. Over in the big city of San Francisco across the Then there was the little girl who looked up bay, children were seeing many strange sights. In Chinatown the almond-eyed, sallow-skinned folk with black queues dangling on their blouses, and flapping pantaloons, came tumbling out of their crowded quarters into the narrow streets and alleys. Many of the women have crippled feet from tight bandages in babyhood, and these poor little ladies can hardly walk. It is a wonder how all the people scrambled out before the brick walls fell, but mothers caught up their babies, strong men carried the women with bound feet, and out of doors they ran. One little Chinese girl told me she thought the sky was tumbling down, and a bright boy of five said he was so frightened by the noise that he just stood still and stopped up his ears with his fingers. In a Chinese mission orphanage were some thirty children. They all scurried out of the brick building into the street and stood in their night-clothes amid the crowd, wondering what was coming next. Presently the teachers got the children's clothes and all dressed in the entry-way, the big ones helping the little tots. In the poorly built homes of the laboring RETURNING WITH FOOD FROM A RELIEF STATION. tight, and then we tried the back door and found we could n't open that either. You see the earthquake shook the house so that the doors would n't work, and the windows had iron slats over them so we could n't get out that way. We saw the people in the street, and the fire-engines came along because the house next door was on fire. Then we knocked at the windows and after a while a fireman noticed us and came and chopped the door open. When we ran out in the street the firemen brought us our clothes and we had to dress right there in the crowd because there was no place else to go." Another house not far away caught fire from an exploding lamp. When the father had carried the mother and child safely out, the little girl thought of her pets-a parrot and two canaries. Into the burning house she ran and rescued all three. A man and his wife who lived alone in a house that caught fire right after the earthquake, had a famous talking parrot. The man was busy carrying off a trunk when his wife heard the parrot calling, and forgetting the danger to herself, rushed back and saved her bird. Lauretta Gage, a girl of twelve, who had been sick for many months, lived with her mother, father and sister in a house on Minna Street. At Christmas time the doctor had brought her a big, beautiful doll, the first one she ever had. Her little sister, with sparkling eyes, told me it had cost six dollars. The family had a mother and father terrier, and a week before the fire four cunning puppies were added to the household. When the time came to leave their home that morning, they gathered up a few blankets and some food. Lauretta carried her doll in her arms until she found that each one of the family was loaded down, and the puppies had been forgotten. Then she laid the doll on her bed, smoothed its dress, kissed it good-bye and ran for the puppies. She placed these snugly in a market basket. She was sure the little mother would keep close to the puppies, and so they started off. While many animals were so well cared for by people driven from their homes before the sweeping fire, it is not strange that some were overlooked. A black mother cat came bounding up Russian Hill with a kitten in her mouth. Dropping her baby under a sidewalk she ran back toward the fire and presently returned with a second kitten. A third and fourth were carried up in succession, and the happy mother is still on Russian Hill, teaching her frisky kittens to become well-behaved mousers. Those four days following the earthquake were a test of childhood such as the world has seldom known. Thousands of children saw their homes burning, their school-houses burning, the whole great city burning, and heard night and day the boom of dynamite blowing up houses and stores and churches in the desperate effort to stop the fire. Many had little or nothing to eat, and even drinking water was hard to find, but as they walked along with their parents, going they knew not where, they did not complain or cry. Little hands held tightly to those they loved and little heads were held erect as they walked for countless blocks to some park or open ground beyond the fire's path. Up on a bold rocky height known as Telegraph Hill live many Italians and Greek fishermen, a few Mexicans and some Irish laborers. It was not until the third day of the great fire that their homes were in danger, but meanwhile they were left there with little to eat, not knowing how soon they would have to flee. When at last the fire came upon them they had no water with which to put it out, so they used casks of wine. With blankets soaked in claret close of the third day after the earthquake they were all running from the hill to escape the fire, and Carolina led her little black-horned, brown-haired kid "Billy." The next day they were camped in an open field near the water's edge, and had nothing to eat but a few crackers. Carolina was very hungry and wished that old Nanny, the kid's mother, were there to give her a cup of milk. Then her father said: "We must kill the kid and eat it or we shall ali starve." Carolina burst into tears, threw her arms about the playful little pet and said: "No, The mother and child stood helpless upon the dock while one boat after another loaded with people and left. The last one was nearly full and the guards were passing aboard only mothers with babies in arms. The little girl held her doll tenderly, and as the boatmen were about to cast off the lines, leaving them behind, she whispered: "Never mind, dollie, we can go on the next one." A soldier saw her and in his haste thought she was carrying a baby. "Let those people get aboard with their baby!" he shouted. The crowd parted, they jumped aboard, and the boat steamed out into the bay. Little Carolina, a bright-eyed Italian girl on Telegraph Hill, had a young goat. Before the no, let us go hungry," and so they did. On the following morning they went back to their home, and soldiers were giving people bread and other food in Washington Square. So little Billy is still frisking with the children on Telegraph Hill. In going about the different camps I was interested in what the children had thought of saving when driven before the fire, and was surprised to find how many had taken their school books, leaving everything else behind. Very few dolls were saved, and indeed most of the children were glad to have escaped with the clothes on their backs. During the fire a little tot of five was seen marching all alone in the crowd of fleeing people, carrying a stuffed bird in a glass bell and a woolly toy dog in her arms. Catching the eye of a strange lady in the crowd, she looked up proudly and said: "I saved 'em!" But for the most part the helpless pets seemed to have the first place in the hearts of both young and old. Many kind people are thinking of the children of San Francisco to-day and doing what they can to help them. Out beyond the gas works on North Beach, where hundreds of homeless families are living in tents, some good women have started a sewing-school for girls. Little girls of six and seven years go daily to the school tent and sew upon clothes for themselves or on baby dresses for little brothers and sisters. When their clothes need washing they have to go to bed while their mothers wash and dry their one little suit. But they are as happy and bright as if they lived in palaces with all sorts of fine things to wear. Indeed, I think they are happier, for they are learning to be of some use in the world and to feel that they can do something to help their mothers. Out in the great beautiful Golden Gate Park with its miles of driveways, its groves of trees gathered from all the world, its beds of flowers, lakes and lawns, thousands of people are living |