"For several days fires had been raging in the timber between Peshtigo and Oconto, and to the north and east of us," wrote a Peshtigo resident in September. "On Friday, I can through from Oconto, and we were compelled to run our horses some distance, with fire above us, and on either side of us, and barely escaped being scorched. Saturday the fire burned through to the river about a mile above town, and Saturday night much danger was apprehended from the sparks and cinders that blew across the river, into the upper part of the town, near the factory… It burned to the tops of the tallest trees, enveloped them in a mantle of flame, or winding itself from them like a huge serpent crept to their top, and lapped out its myriad fiery tongues while its fierce breath swept off the green leaves and roared through the forest like a tempest… Thus the night wore away while we earnestly hoped, and many hearts fervently prayed for rain."

This was only the beginning. The prayed-for rain came too late for Williamsonville, New Franken, Sugar Bush, Peshtigo, and other settlements among the tall pine trees of northern Wisconsin.

It had been dry in 1871, terribly dry, the summer drought extended well into fall. Grass, weeds, and trees became like tinder. Streams ceased to run and wells gave out. Swamps that ordinarily held two or three feet of water crackled under foot like twigs.

The drought covered much of the United States. Fires raged from the Alleghenies to the Rockies and beyond. In Wisconsin, fires sprang up in many parts of the pine forests. In the northeastern part of the state, they burned from west of the Wolf River to Lake Michigan. This is an are 70 miles wide and 100 miles deep. Little Suamico, Pensaukee, Sturgeon Bay, and Oconto were saved from destruction only because everyone who was able helped to fight the flames.

October came, but it brought no rain. Then, early on the night of October 8, fire driven by a high wind leaped from tree to tree and burned the little settlement of New Franken, a few miles east of Green Bay.

News of this and other fires that brought death and destruction to farms and villages in Kewaunee, Door, Brown, and Manitowoc counties that night reached the city of Green Bay. Then word came over the telegraph wires – the great city of Chicago, Illinois, was also burning. Only later, did people hear about the fire at Peshtigo, Wisconsin.

This village of about 2,000 people in Marinette County lay on both sides of the Peshtigo River, about seven miles from the mouth. The lumber mill at the harbor on the shores of Green Bay was one of the largest in that part of Wisconsin, turning out about 150,000 feet of lumber per day. In the village itself, there were mills that made window sashes, doors, and blinds. There were also machine shops, a large gristmill, boarding houses, and stores. The Peshtigo River was an important driving stream for lumberjacks. Limber from pine was important to this community; in fact, it was the reason for its being there.

For weeks, the people of Peshtigo had lived with the danger of fire all around them. The dense smoke over the village kept eyes red and watery. The smoke on Sunday, October 8, seemed worse than usual. There were fires in every direction. One person is reported to have said, "I am afraid we shall all burn up tonight." But many people went to church that Sunday evening with no thought of danger. The evening showed no signs of being different, really, from any other citizens of Peshtigo had experienced for several weeks.

The wind that had been blowing steadily all day suddenly died to a calm about nightfall. Then a breeze picked up. Some people in the streets noticed something like snowflakes falling from the air. Through the smoke a dull red glare could be seen on the horizon. As people started home from church, they were startled by a terrible roar from the southwest. It sounded like the noise of a great storm. Some people thought it was more like a threshing machine. Others compared it to the sound of many freight trains. The wind grew stronger.

As the noise increased, people became frightened. Some ran home to gather their belongings. Squads of men got out the fire-fighting equipment.

Suddenly, the wind reached what seemed like gale force. A blinding light appeared overhead. Fire fell as if from the sky onto the people of Peshtigo. There was little chance to fight this fire. Every part of town burst into flames like a huge explosion. At once, the streets filled with people, cows, oxen, horses, and even animals from the forest. The noise of crashing trees and the roaring and whistling of the wind mingled with the screams of human beings faced with what seemed the end of the world.

People who had gone to bed were awakened by the crackling of flames on the roof. Those who escaped did so with only their nightclothes on. A number of people sought refuge in a boarding house where all were burned to death. Some residents hesitated to think about saving their possessions and failed to reach safety.

People rushed onto the bridge from both sides of the river. No one knew whether one side of the stream was safer than the other. The bridge burned and fell into the water. Many died there.

As the fire spread, hundred of people headed for the river. Women, children, and men plunged in and waded out up to their necks to escape the searing heat and hungry flames. Even there, they were not entirely safe. Falling sparks and burning wood endangered their heads, and only by throwing water over themselves and beating at the river with their hands did anyone remain alive. Some fortunate ones had blankets or pieces of cloth, which they kept soaked, and over their heads.

One person, who spent several hours in the water, said, "When turning my gaze from the river I chanced to look either to the right or left, before me or upwards. I saw nothing but flames; houses, trees, and the air itself were on fire. Above my, as far as the eye could reach into space, alas! Too brilliantly lights, I saw nothing but immense volumes of flames covering the firmament, rolling one over the other with stormy violence as we see masses of clouds driven wildly hither and thither by the fierce power of the tempest."

Dozens of animals were in the water too, and some bumped people off logs and bits of debris to which they clung, or rolled over them, sending them to death by drowning. Other people, exhausted and hopeless, lost their grips or their footing and slipped beneath the water.

By early morning on October 9, the fire had moved away from Peshtigo. Those who still lived climbed from the water. Many people gathered in a sheltered valley near the water's edge. Others wandered about looking for friends and relatives. Bodies lay all about the town; carcasses of horses, cows, and other animals were scattered here and there. Many human bodies had no signs of burns on them, yet coins and other pieces of metal in their pockets had been melted. Hogsheads of nails had been turned into twisted masses of metal. Great trees had been burned down to their roots, leaving huge blackened holes in the ground. No buildings remained standing.

News of the Chicago fire, where 200 people lost their lives, shocked the world, and aid for the sufferers came from many places. At Peshtigo, where more than 700 died within minutes, telegraph wires had been burned. Word of the disaster traveled on foot to Marinette and Green Bay. The small communities of Williamsonville and Sugar Bush had been destroyed with great loss of life that night, too. Information about these disasters trickled slowly into the larger cities.

Once the outside world learned of the destruction in northeastern Wisconsin, food, clothing, and money came quickly, from both within and outside of the state. News of the Peshtigo fire reached Madison on October 10. Governor Lucius Fairchild was out of the city, but his young wife directed the gathering and shipping of food and clothing. On the afternoon of October 11, a carload of supplies was ready to leave Madison. Watertown, Fond du Lac, and Oshkosh also sent aid. Altogether, a total of over $166,000 was sent to Madison for relief of the fire victims. Other large sums were gathered at Milwaukee.

With the aid of other communities the people of Peshtigo, like those of Chicago, rebuilt their town, and made it better than it had been before. But, as long as they lived, survivors of the Peshtigo fire never forget horror of the night of October 8, 1871, when flames fell out of the sky.