1905_06c_NormalRecord.021 |
Previous | 21 of 55 | Next |
|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
Large
Extra Large
large ( > 500x500)
Full Resolution
|
This page
All
|
Loading content ...
20 *"" THE NORMAL RECORD even though it is July. Your house may be burning, or tramps,—" A distant whistle screams. It grows harsher, it lengthens, it is swelled by the tones of a thousand bellowing metal throats. The clock strikes. Its notes are lost in the beating of a hundred bells. It is a clamor that cleaves the sky. "Fire! fire! fire! fire!" A tremor shakes me from head to foot. I untwist my numb foot from the rounds of the stool and rush to the door. "Fire! fire! fire! fire!" Every body is shouting. The streets are a mass of stirring, inquiring humanity. All are running in the same direction, and questioning lips frame one query,— "Where is the fire?" No one knows. No smoke is seen. The wind roars, the dust whirls; wagons rattle past me drawn by panting horses lashed to a run. "Get out of the way there! clear the street, the engines are coming!" The surging throng part down the center and seek the side walks. A rush, a cloud of smoke, a sprinkling of sparks, the emphatic, warning tinkle of bells and the fire companies are out of sight. A shout from the crowds, one universal waving of arms and a burst of black smoke shot here and there with forked flames send my feet speeding in the direction of the bridge. That is the point I must reach before I am too late. I can see the flame leaping ferociously in that direction. Phyllis' eyes, I know, are tearless now, but her heart is bruised. I pray for strength to run. My home, all that is most dear to me are in the path of this terrible "fire. The roar of the flames can be heard. They rise a hundred feet in air and the wind fans them into fiercer blaze. They curl and lick like hungry dragons, the edges of roof and wall. Black smoke heavy with the odor of pitch rolls over the city. I am nearing the block where the fire started. It is spreading. The flames reach across the street and homes melt before them. Men and women look on helplessly wring their hands. People rush out of houses carying goods, and return to find ashes only. I pass a hotel. A piano tumbled from an upper window while a man clambers from the front entrance and triumpantly deposits a feather bed on the ground. I meet a woman aimlessly dragging the sideboard of a bedstead, am hit on the head by a china teapot tossed from a window. "Fire," has become the common topic of conversation. Men and women talk to anybody and everybody. People will address a crowd, at a fire, who wouldn't open their mouths at a prayer meeting. "There must be a fire some place," said one to me when I started. "Yes," I snarled, heavens help you idiot, if you can't' see for yourself." I run and run. My breath is fast giving out. Perspiration pours down my face. I am hatless. Dust has filled my eyes. My nerves are strained to the point of breaking. I am running mechanically. If I should try to stop, it would be impossible to halt. My feet have become automatic. They are machines propelled by the fury of terror. Only one more street only one more block. I turn the corner past a group of trees. I reach the bridge. Is the house standing? A feeling like a blessing from Heaven descends on my over-strained nerves. The cottage is there. Sunlight falls on garden and house-top. The roses ;are fair and sweet where Phyllis stands beckoning with the baby laughing beside her. I gasp, I stumble, I fall. That terrible race is over. Now, the day that followed it is closed. The
Object Description
Title | The Normal Record. June 1905 |
Original Date | 1905-06 |
Description | The Record. Published by the Associated Students of Chico State College. |
Creator | Chico State College |
Location of Original | Archives |
Call Number | LD723 C57 |
Digital Collection | The Record: Chico State Yearbook Collection |
Digital Repository | Meriam Library, California State University, Chico. |
Description-Abstract | The Record served as both a student magazine and a commencement program for Chico Normal School. In the year 1905 it was published nearly every month. |
Date Digital | 2013 |
Language | eng |
Rights | For information on the use of the images in this collection contact the Special Collections Department at 530.898-6342 or email: specialcollections@csuchico.edu |
Format | image/tiff |
Filename | index.cpd |
Description
Title | 1905_06c_NormalRecord.021 |
Original Date | 1905-06 |
OCR- Transcript | 20 *"" THE NORMAL RECORD even though it is July. Your house may be burning, or tramps,—" A distant whistle screams. It grows harsher, it lengthens, it is swelled by the tones of a thousand bellowing metal throats. The clock strikes. Its notes are lost in the beating of a hundred bells. It is a clamor that cleaves the sky. "Fire! fire! fire! fire!" A tremor shakes me from head to foot. I untwist my numb foot from the rounds of the stool and rush to the door. "Fire! fire! fire! fire!" Every body is shouting. The streets are a mass of stirring, inquiring humanity. All are running in the same direction, and questioning lips frame one query,— "Where is the fire?" No one knows. No smoke is seen. The wind roars, the dust whirls; wagons rattle past me drawn by panting horses lashed to a run. "Get out of the way there! clear the street, the engines are coming!" The surging throng part down the center and seek the side walks. A rush, a cloud of smoke, a sprinkling of sparks, the emphatic, warning tinkle of bells and the fire companies are out of sight. A shout from the crowds, one universal waving of arms and a burst of black smoke shot here and there with forked flames send my feet speeding in the direction of the bridge. That is the point I must reach before I am too late. I can see the flame leaping ferociously in that direction. Phyllis' eyes, I know, are tearless now, but her heart is bruised. I pray for strength to run. My home, all that is most dear to me are in the path of this terrible "fire. The roar of the flames can be heard. They rise a hundred feet in air and the wind fans them into fiercer blaze. They curl and lick like hungry dragons, the edges of roof and wall. Black smoke heavy with the odor of pitch rolls over the city. I am nearing the block where the fire started. It is spreading. The flames reach across the street and homes melt before them. Men and women look on helplessly wring their hands. People rush out of houses carying goods, and return to find ashes only. I pass a hotel. A piano tumbled from an upper window while a man clambers from the front entrance and triumpantly deposits a feather bed on the ground. I meet a woman aimlessly dragging the sideboard of a bedstead, am hit on the head by a china teapot tossed from a window. "Fire," has become the common topic of conversation. Men and women talk to anybody and everybody. People will address a crowd, at a fire, who wouldn't open their mouths at a prayer meeting. "There must be a fire some place," said one to me when I started. "Yes," I snarled, heavens help you idiot, if you can't' see for yourself." I run and run. My breath is fast giving out. Perspiration pours down my face. I am hatless. Dust has filled my eyes. My nerves are strained to the point of breaking. I am running mechanically. If I should try to stop, it would be impossible to halt. My feet have become automatic. They are machines propelled by the fury of terror. Only one more street only one more block. I turn the corner past a group of trees. I reach the bridge. Is the house standing? A feeling like a blessing from Heaven descends on my over-strained nerves. The cottage is there. Sunlight falls on garden and house-top. The roses ;are fair and sweet where Phyllis stands beckoning with the baby laughing beside her. I gasp, I stumble, I fall. That terrible race is over. Now, the day that followed it is closed. The |