reached the ferry who had come in
precedence of the flames, or who made a long detour to reach that avenue
of flight. When the news came to the camps of refugees that it was safe
to cross the burned area a procession began from the Golden Gate Park
across the city and down Market Street, the thoroughfare which had long
been the pride of the citizens, and a second from the Presidio, along
the curving shore line of the north bay, thence southward along the
water front. Throughout these routes, eight miles long, a continuous
flow of humanity dragged its weary way all day and far into the night
amidst hundreds of vehicles, from the clumsy garbage cart to the modern
automobile. Almost every person and every vehicle carried luggage.
Drivers of vehicles were disregardful of these exhausted, hungry
refugees and drove straight through the crowd. So dazed and deadened to
all feeling were some of them that they were bumped aside by carriage
wheels or bumped out of the way by persons.

SCENES OF HUMOR AND PATHOS.

As already stated, the scene had its humorous as well as its pathetic
side, and various amusing stories are told by those who were in a frame
of mind to notice ludicrous incidents in the horrors of the situation.
Two race track men met in the drive.

"Hello, Bill; where are you living now?" asked one.

"You see that tree over there--that big one?" said Bill. "Well, you
climb that. My room is on the third branch to the left," and they went
away laughing.

Another observer tells these incidents of the flight: "I saw one big fat
man calmly walking up Market Street, carrying a huge bird cage, and the
cage was empty. He seemed to enjoy looking at the wrecked buildings.
Another man was leading a huge Newfoundland dog and carrying a kitten in
his arms. He kept talking to the kitten. On Fell Street I noticed an old
woman, half dressed, pushing a sewing machine up the hill. A drawer
fell out, and she stopped to gather the fallen spools. Poor little
seamstress, it was now her all."

A more amusing instance of the spirit of saving is that told by another
narrator, who says that he saw a lone woman patiently pushing an upright
piano along the pavement a few inches at a time. Evidently in this case,
too, it was the poor soul's one great treasure on earth.

He also tells of a guest berating the proprietor of a hotel, a few
minutes after the shock, because he had not obeyed orders to call him at
five o'clock. He vowed he wou