52 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 8, 1911. 
The Unreasoning Enemy 
By CHARLES S. MOODY 
T HE forest fires which devastated many sec¬ 
tions of the West and Northwest during 
the autumn of 1910 were of such magni¬ 
tude that persons unfamiliar with conditions 
cannot form an estimate of their destruction. 
Persons accustomed to the small timber of the 
East cannot appreciate the awe and sublimity 
of a fire raging through acres of timber so 
thick upon the ground that only a narrow pack 
trail can be made through it, and of such size 
that many single trees will cut 5,000 board feet 
of lumber. 
When the conflagration first began we were 
in military camp at Cosgrove, Wash. Ten 
thousand troops of the regular army and the 
various state organizations were assembled 
there for instruction. A few days after we 
reached the camp ground it became noticeable 
that something was amiss; troop after troop 
of the regulars were being entrained for service 
in fire fighting. A dense black pall hung over 
the earth, the sun shone through the haze a 
red ball of fire, the mountains only a short dis¬ 
tance away were wrapped in smoke; ashes and 
bits of charred wood fell upon the camp ground 
when the wind was favorable, in a shower. Re¬ 
ports kept coming in from Oregon, Washing¬ 
ton, Idaho of the devastation wrought by the 
•destroyer. It was not many days before all the 
regulars were away in a war against an unrea¬ 
soning enemy. 
Anxiously we watched the newspapers for ac¬ 
counts from our own homes in Idaho. Early 
we waited for a message from our commander- 
in-chief summoning us home to aid in the work 
of quelling the enemy. All work was sus¬ 
pended. The officers gathered in knots before 
the Colonel’s quarters and discussed the dan¬ 
ger. The Governor seemed strangely silent. 
Then the message came. The old Adjutant- 
General came into my quarters one morning 
after sick call, holding in his hand a telegraph 
message. “Major,” he said, “we are ordered 
home to fight the fires. I tell you first, for 
upon you will devolve, I fear, an arduous task. 
We will entrain this afternoon.” So saying, he 
passed on to the Colonel and issued the orders. 
The camp suddenly came to life. In a few 
minutes from the time the orders were issued 
the conicals were leveled, blankets and knap¬ 
sacks packed, and every soldier ready for the 
journey. By the middle of the afternoon the 
special train came into the yards. When every 
horse, tent and bit of baggage was on board, 
the trumpeter stepped out on the platform, 
raised his trumpet and the assembly went ring¬ 
ing upon the still evening air. The boys 
tumbled into their coaches and the train rolled 
north. We were going to a war in which the 
enemy did not know when he was defeated. 
Lives might he lost but no bullet would speed 
their passing, no general would direct the move¬ 
ments of the army that would cause their tak¬ 
ing off. 
Night closed down as we topped the Cas¬ 
cades. we looked off to the north where the 
red glare on the night sky betokened the march 
of the fire army. It was 300 miles away, but 
we could see it as though it were only a few 
rods. The days dragged away with leaden feet 
as that train crept toward the forests of Idaho. 
As we approached the locality we were met by 
showers of ashes and a hail of burnt twigs. 
The glare became at night more ominous and 
sinister. One could almost see to read by its 
light. 
After leaving Spokane the danger became ap¬ 
parent, the train men moved with great caution, 
the heavy troop train merely crept over the 
rails. Then we entered the fire zone. All about 
us were smoking tree trunks and blackened 
earth, here and there lay the ruins of a house, 
occasionally the charred body of a horse or 
cow. About midnight the train stopped and 
the conductor told us he could go no further, 
a bridge just ahead was in ruins, shutting off 
all progress. 
With morning we detrained. Below ran a 
small stream, and upon its shores, at a point 
where the fire had not struck, we made camp. 
I placed the hospital tents near to the stream 
where, should occasion arise, I might transfer 
my patients. To the north the fire raged. No 
language can paint the scene. It was a world 
on fire. For miles and miles the sheet of flame 
covered the earth, eating up the giant timber 
as though it were but match wood, licking up 
farm and hamlet in its insatiable greed. 
Before noon burned and blackened victims be¬ 
gan creeping into the hospital. Our hands 
were busy with their care. First one with his 
hands charred to the bone, then another with 
his eyeballs seared and sightless, led by a com¬ 
panion scarcely less injured than he; men, 
women and children came, many of them with¬ 
out clothing save a few rags, yet others hurt 
by falling trees. It was a sight beside which 
the horrors of war pale into insignificance. 
War claims its victims from strong men, this 
enemy chose all classes, young and old. 
Off in the deep timber a town lay surrounded 
by fire. The people had congregated there for 
protection, many of them injured, all in immi¬ 
nent danger. Some surgical help must be sent 
them. I looked over my force and asked for 
a volunteer. Captain Patrie stepped forth 
“Major, give me a horse and the necessary sup¬ 
plies and I will endeavor to reach the place." 
I knew that the Captain had a wife and sick 
baby at home. “Captain Patrie, let some of 
the younger officers go; they have less to lose 
should they meet with disaster.” 
"No, Major, those people need a ski led man. 
I am older than your other officers. Let me go.” 
“Go then, and may God go with you.” 
The Captain loaded a pack horse,'and with a 
single orderly struck into the heart of the fire 
zone. I did not see him again for a week. 
When he came in he was black as a negro, his 
clothes in tatters, but a happy look on his face 
of a man who had performed his duty. The 
troops were formed into a fire patrol and did 
good service in staying the sweep of the flames. 
They proved that Americans can adapt them¬ 
selves to conditions and performed their tasks 
uncomplainingly. 
In order that some adequate idea of the con¬ 
ditions may be obtained let me recount a few 
minor incidents of the fire. 
Marble Creek, in the path of the fire, is a 
considerable stream flowing out of the moun¬ 
tains. It was well stocked with trout. After 
the fire one might walk along the stream and 
count dead fish by the thousands. These fish 
were not simply killed by heat, they were 
actually cooked. This will convey some idea of 
the intense heat that prevailed. 
-The reason so many people were killed by the 
fire was that the flames swept the country at a 
rate of sixty or seventy miles per hour. We 
saw immense sheets of flame, large as a city 
lot, leave the main fire and sail like a great red 
blanket, for hundreds of yards to alight upon 
the forest and consume it like tinder. Caught 
in the path of that fire, a man was doomed. 
Deer and birds were numerous before the 
fire. Afterward, one might walk along a stream 
where the water afforded some slight protection, 
and see piles of charred forms here and there 
on the ground. The creatures sought the pro¬ 
tection of the damp places, then the fire came 
along and consumed them. 
While the loss of life was appalling, the loss 
in property cannot be estimated. The fire 
swept over the northern part of Nez Perce 
county, the northern and eastern part of Sho¬ 
shone county, and over a considerable area in 
Bonner county, all heavily timbered. A number 
of small towns were consumed. Wallace, the 
largest town in the famous Coeur d’Alene 
mining district, was more than half wiped out. 
All over the country small mines and prospects 
were destroyed. Of course, in the timber values 
there was the greatest loss. The region visited 
by the fire was forested with a dense growth of 
white pine, sugar pine and larch. The region 
was devastated. The great trees that stood so 
proudly upon the hillsides were but charred and 
ruined stubs. In many instances, the fierce 
heat consumed them entirely. Many quarter 
sections of the land swept over held from four 
to five million white pines worth at least $4 
per thousand. Imagine thousands of acres of 
this land denuded of its forest and you can 
grasp, in some measure, what the people 
suffered. 
Through nearly all this conflagration a high 
wind prevailed, which added to the terrors of 
the situation. No human agency could make 
headway against it. All the fire fighters could 
do was to save human life wherever possible. 
Alas, many persons were beyond aid 
In times of great stress heroes arise. It was 
so in the fires last fall. The pages of this 
magazine might be filled with individual acts of 
heroism, the disinterested performances of ob¬ 
scure men. One in particular is worthy of men¬ 
tion. The little town of Northport was sur¬ 
rounded by fire. The scattering inhabitants of 
the country had congregated there for such pro¬ 
tection as association might afford them. A 
sergeant from the regular army with four col¬ 
ored troopers were there to aid in caring for 
the injured. The town was in a narrow canon 
through which a small stream ran. The soldiers 
saw that the only salvation for the people was 
the construction of a dam across the stream, 
raising the water in order that the people might 
take refuge in it should the fire envelop them. 
With indomitable energy those colored men 
