Ahnapee/Algoma & the Great Fire of 1871: The Child Nobody Talked About

 

Stories of  everyday people are important to our history and culture. In an effort to collect that history, Brown County Historical Society encouraged area residents to tell their story in 800 words from the perspective of the "Fly on the Wall." From the submissions, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners and five honorable mentions were chosen. The story below is the 1st place winner. This one, and those of the 2nd and 3rd place winners, will be published in an upcoming edition of Voyageur, Brown County Historical Society's award-winning magazine of history.

The story below is true and happened in Ahnepee (now Algoma) in October 1871. The child nobody talked about died because of the Great Fire, also known as the Peshtigo Fire. The child was the first born to my great-grandparents who had no time to grieve in such horror. Life was for the living.

The following story is told by the Fly.

The Child Nobody Talked About

That summer was frightful. Ahnepee saw only a few drops of rain in months. The smoke and fog hanging in the air made it even hard to see in the house, and I was afraid to abandon the safety of the kitchen window wall.

Amelia told Magnus that she could not see Mr. Perry's store across the street for the smoke. She could not keep Bay Imelda unsoiled. Amelia bathed Imelda and washed small clothes each day, but when the clothing was dry, Baby's soil was replaced with ash. Grossmutter and Grossvater could scarcely breathe and said Imelda's breathing was too shallow. Amelia was at her wits' end.

It was dreadfully hot that October, yet windows were kept closed to keep out smoke, dust and dirt. Everybody complained about sore throats. Breathing hurt and eyes burned. Imelda was not three weeks old and her cries were pitiful.

Saturday October 7 was a wretched day even for me. Smoke was horrid as soot-blackened folks flocked into town. Magnus said they were Belgians fleeing the woods to the west that were afire. Magnus and Opa spoke in whispers. They were frightened, and I heard them murmur if fire came to Ahnepee, they would take to the lake and meet there. If fire comes, what should I do?

Sunday morning was far worse. Although most birds had left, we still heard crows and gulls, though not in a few days. Dogs stopped barking, and Grossvati said their fur stood on end in fear. It was still when that endless wind sloweed in the forenoon. Grossvati thought there was a chance of escaping fire, but in the mid-afternoon the wind freshened and terrified, deer, foxes, rabbits, and other animals ran from the woods to the lake.

Grossvater and Magnus minded the western skies as did everbody else in the village. It was near 6 and dark, but Grossmutti and Amelia kept eyeing the fire-like glow to the west and southwest.

Just then somebody screamed "fire" and everybody began running for refuge in the Ahnepee River, Lake Michigan or into their wells. I didn't know what to do and stayed on my wall next to the window where I saw people running helter-skelter. Nobody knew what to do or where to go. Amelia covered Baby with a quilt as Magnus snatched her and started running. He shouted to Amelia to life her skirts and run. 

Hearing scream of people and animals, I wondered what would happen to me. Church-going folks knew that day they would be in paradise. Paradise for me was in the stable, but I knew that was not a place for Grossmutti, Amelia, and Baby.

Suddenly I heard what sounded like rain drops. They were! Rain came in torrents as glows in the sky disappeared while the night got pitch-dark and freezing cold. But where was my family?

 At first light, I saw char and ash outside the window. Then Magnus returned to see about the house. After that he and Grossvati joined Mr. Swaty who organized relief efforts to find those injured. Or worse. Thankfully, Magnus said, there wee no deaths. He said several buildings were lost but mostly it was the ash and char that covered everything. Knowing the family would be safe with Grossvati, Magnus joined others who went out into the countryside looking for those who needed help. 

Magnus told the ladies little of what he saw, however I was still near the window when I heard what he quietly told Opa. 

Nobody died in Ahnepee on October 8, 1871, but a few days later there were deaths. Faggs went into their well and a day or two later, little Sarah got the dreaded pneumonia. She died. Mr. McCosky was known to have breathing sufferings, and he died after Sarah. Then Baby Imelda died.

Imelda was three weeks old when she breathed her last. Born into oppressive heat, with smoke and fog on the wind, in those three weeks everything got worse. Her tiny lungs could not sustain her.Magnus built a small wooden box. Amelia lined it with a quilt and gently laid Imelda in. Magnus covered the wall and my grief stricken family carried it away. I never saw Baby again.

In the next days, my family saw to those in need and did for them. Amelia wept bitterly when she thought nobody saw her. Grossmutti wept too. Magnus and Opa were melancholy.

By then it was late in October and winter was coming. Much laid by beforehand was either spoiled or burned. Water was fouled by people and animals boiled to death while seeking sanctuary in rivers, creeks, and wells. Folks saw to the living.

 The Great Fire of 1871 was oft recalled in fear. I remained afraid and kept to the kitchen wall.

Note: The City of Algoma was named in 1897. At first settlement in 1851, the tiny fledgling settlement was known as Wolf River and Wolf River Trading Post until 1859 when it was renamed Ahnepee, meaning "Where is the River?" In 1873, the community was renamed Ahnapee. The Department of Post Offices, the State of Wisconsin, and others consistently misspelled the community's name and finally - if you can't beat 'em, join 'em - the place changed its name in 1873. It became the City of Ahnapee in 1879, and finally in 1897, Algoma, which means, "Where waters meet."