A man was found with a wagon to cart our things back to the house and, while we did not have much worldly wealth in our clothes, we were prepared to pay liberally. Under the circumstances, when his modest charge of two dollars was met we felt that he had earned it many times and in addition, our gratitude. Arriving at the residence, we found the sidewalks and the street in front of it three inches thick with ashes and cinders. Now came the task of unearthing the trunks and with it came the thought that had this section been entirely burned how difficult it might have been to locate the place where they had been buried. Necessity for action and to be up and doing was too strong, however, to allow time for any such conjectures. There was too much going on to dwell on post-mortems. That night the streets were patrolled by marines from United States warships in the harbor, whom the government had hurried to the scene of action with all promptness possible. No lights nor fires were permitted in houses. It was either retire at sundown or retire in the dark. Whatever water was needed had to be carried from the nearest well and even after the mains had been restored to normal efficiency this practice was continued for fear that the possibly broken sewers might contaminate or pollute the water. No fires nor cooking were permitted in any building until every chimney and flue had been passed upon by the authorities. In order to obtain water it was necessary first to procure buckets, then carry it from an old well in Lafayette Square, some dozen blocks away. Baths were forgotten and shaving was a luxury. It entailed severe labor to secure water with which to prepare the necessities of life and to maintain a reasonable degree of personal cleanliness. In common with every other citizen our stove was placed on the curb and this was our kitchen and dining room for over six weeks. As there was no oven, baking and roasting had to be dispensed with, boiling and frying being the established fashion. The second day after the fire, a food station was opened across the street in an old carriage house which belonged to Mr. J. L. Flood. Here lines would form to receive rations, the millionaire rubbing shoulders with the laborer. The panhandler got as much as the plutocrat. The disaster leveled all classes. A million dollars in one's pocket would have been of little use. Nothing could be bought with it and it could not serve as either food or drink. Getting Back to Work