Often， after surmounting a heart-breaking hill. theywould find another wall of flame advancing upon themat right angles and be compelled to change anew theline of their retreat. In the end， completely played out，after toiling for a dozen hours like giants， thousands ofthem were compelled to abandon their trunks. Here theshopkeepers and soft members of the middle class were ata disadvantage. But the working-men dug holes in vacantlots and backyards and buried their trunks.
The Doomed City
At nine o’clock Wednesday evening I walked downthrough the very heart of the city. I walked throughmiles and miles of magnificent buildings and toweringskyscrapers. Here was no fire. All was in perfect order.
The police patrolled the streets. Every building had itswatchman at the door. And yet it was doomed， all of it.
There was no water. The dynamite was giving out. And atright angles two different conflagrations were sweepingdown upon it.
At one o’clock in the morning I walked down throughthe same section. Everything still stood intact. Therewas no fire. And yet there was a change. A rain of asheswas falling. The watchmen at the doors were gone. Thepolice had been withdrawn. There were no firemen， nofire-engines， no men fighting with dynamite. The districthad been absolutely abandoned. I stood at the corner ofKearney and Market， in the very innermost heart of SanFrancisco. Kearny Street was deserted. Half a dozen blocksaway it was burning on both sides. The street was a wall offlame. And against this wall of flame， silhouetted sharply，were two United States cavalrymen sitting their horses，calming watching. That was all. Not another person was insight. In the intact heart of the city two troopers sat theirhorses and watched.
Spread of the Conflagration
Surrender was complete. There was no water. Thesewers had long since been pumped dry. There was nodynamite. Another fire had broken out further uptown，and now from three sides conflagrations were sweepingdown. The fourth side had been burned earlier in the day.
In that direction stood the tottering walls of the Examinerbuilding， the burned-out Call building， the smolderingruins of the Grand Hotel， and the gutted， devastated，dynamited Palace Hotel.
The following will illustrate the sweep of the flamesand the inability of men to calculate their spread. Ateight o’clock Wednesday evening I passed through UnionSquare. It was packed with refugees. Thousands of themhad gone to bed on the grass. Government tents had beenset up， supper was being cooked， and the refugees werelining up for free meals.
At half past one in the morning three sides of UnionSquare were in flames. The fourth side， where stood thegreat St. Francis Hotel was still holding out. An hour later，ignited from top and sides the St. Francis was flamingheavenward. Union Square， heaped high with mountains oftrunks， was deserted. Troops， refugees， and all had retreated.
A Fortune for a Horse！
It was at Union Square that I saw a man offering athousand dollars for a team of horses. He was in chargeof a truck piled high with trunks from some hotel. It hadbeen hauled here into what was considered safety， and thehorses had been taken out. The flames were on three sidesof the Square and there were no horses.
Also， at this time， standing beside the truck， I urgeda man to seek safety in flight. He was all but hemmed inby several conflagrations. He was an old man and he Wason crutches. Said he： “Today is my birthday. Last night Iwas worth thirty thousand dollars. I bought five bottles ofwine， some delicate fish and other things for my birthdaydinner. I have had no dinner， and all I own are thesecrutches.”
I convinced him of his danger and started him limpingon his way. An hour later， from a distance， I saw the truckloadof trunks burning merrily in the middle of the street.