For a number of weeks past we have been reading of the many disasters resulting from forest fires, both to life and property, and at times we have had fears mixed with dread that it would become our painful duty to record similar instances which had transpired in the neighborhood of Yuba. For a number of days a dense smoke settled over us, being blown in from the southwest, which caused much anxiety, so much so in fact that people were almost afraid to be away from home. The thought seemed to be, if fire starts, where will it end?

They have been hard at work for two and three days at a time, for the last two or three weeks, around Acme, fighting back the fiery demon. At times it was feared they could not save houses or barns. It required the assistance of twelve men and as many teams, working hard all day last Sabbath, to save Mr. Sours's and Mr. Gee's buildings, and Dr. Bailey's were only saved a day or two before by the most heroic efforts, the fire being started by a wad from a shot gun igniting the leaves.

It is sometimes a pleasant exercise to write locals. Such might be true when (when) our subjects chance to be scenes of delight, mingled with those of prosperity, in which all can take more or less enjoyment, but when they are strictly on the other side, and when our writing has a tendency to darken the shades of the picture, then pleasure becomes tainted with sadness and instead of cheerfulness produces despondency.

During last Friday forenoon we could hear as if it were far off a low rumbling which all to be distant thunder, and receiving it as an unmistakable signal of an approaching storm, all who had outstanding grain that was in a fit condition to be put in barn or stack called all their energies into requisition, doubled their efforts and went at work as if it were a hand to hand fight to get the last shock of wheat or the lad load of peas under shelter before the storm should reach them. This was the picture our little neighborhood presented on last Friday forenoon. Look in what direction you would you could see men and teams hurrying in every possible course as if they expected some grand object to crown their last effort. Between twelve and one o'clock not a shock of wheat or a load of peas was left standing in the field, horses were hurried off to places of presumed safety to be cared for, while men ran to the house to escape the rain, which was at hand, and to tell the glad news that all was secure.

At precisely fifteen minutes to one o'clock a vivid flash of lightning followed by a sharp clap of thunder caused all to step back who stood near doors or windows with the exclamation, "I know that struck somewhere!" But what were all the shocks we had ever received when compared to the one born on the sad intelligence, "Mr. Newcomb's new barn with all its contents is burned to its foundation!" This barn was finished in the summer of 1884 just in time to receive the harvest. It was a double barn 80 ft. in length by 60 ft. in width. It was packed full from floor to rafters with hay, grain and peas. It required two days hard work with the help of 80 men to raise it, but in one short hour with all its contents it lay in smoldering embers.

The lightning had done its work. The bolt struck the building at the southeast end midway between the top and bottom of the rafter, then following the same angle with which it approached it reached the opposite end of the building and struck the foot of the post in the northwest corner, its course being almost a perfect triangle, igniting the inflammable material from one end of the building to the other and from the top to the bottom at the same time. David Newcomb, a young man, feeling deeply interested in their prosperity, had returned to the barn and was standing nearest the end where the bolt made its exit, only a few feet to one side of its path, when with the rapidity of thought the bright ball flew by, giving him quite a severe shock as it hurried on to finish its work. When he came to himself the building was in flames. In the building were various kinds of machinery, one selfbinder, on drill, one horse power feed cutter, one wagon, and in the basement a span of horses and tools. By using every effort they saved the binder and stock; by this time the heat was so intense it was impossible to secure anything more.

At this time the scene beggars description. The wind blew a rapid gale from the northwest and the flames would leap far up into the air as if to bid defiance to the clouds, then whirl backward only to come again and again, writhing, curling and twisting as if to bid defiance to all human skill. "What can we do?" would be asked. Each one seemed spell-bound. All that could be done was to stand back and with tearful eyes behold the grand scene of surging flames as they seemed to vie with each other in their work of consuming the results of a year's had toil. The loss is estimated at about $3,000. Mr. Newcomb may rest assured that he and his family have the sympathies of the entire community in their heavy loss.

From Thomas H. Semelbauer, Kalamazoo, Michigan/February 14, 1999/ tsemelbaue@aol.com

converted to HTML Feb 20, 1999 by Ken Newcombe