CHAPTER VII. THE THAMES ON FIRE. THE DEATH OF BRAIDWOOD.
About half-past four o'clock in the afternoon of June 22nd, 1861, an alarm of fire reached the Watling Street station.
The firemen turned out to the call; but little did they think, as they hurried along, that the fire to which they were summoned would burn for a whole month, and would become known as one of the most serious in the history of London.
The call came from Tooley Street, on the south side of London Bridge. Some jute in the upper part of a warehouse had been discovered smouldering, and bucketsful of water had been thrown upon it; but the smoke became so thick and overwhelming, that the men were compelled to desist, and the flames grew rapidly.
By this time the alarm had been sent to Watling Street. Quickly the fire-engines arrived on the spot, and the men found dense masses of smoke pouring from buildings at Cotton's Wharf. A number of tall warehouses, rising up to six stories high, and filled with inflammable goods, stood here and near by, among the goods being oil, tallow, tar, cotton, saltpetre, bales of silk, and chests of tea. In spite of all efforts, the fire burned steadily on, and dense volumes of smoke poured forth.
Mr. Braidwood had speedily arrived, and two large floating-engines, in addition to others, were got to work. He stationed his men wisely, and huge jets of water were speedily playing on the fire.
Great excitement soon rose in the neighbourhood. Surging crowds of eager people thronged the streets approaching the wharf, and a dense assemblage pressed together on London Bridge. Even the thoroughfares on the opposite side were blocked. But the spectators could see little just then, except thick clouds of smoke and great jets of water. On the river, vessels struggled to escape from the proximity of the burning building; while on land, the police forced back the people from the surrounding streets, so as to give greater freedom to the firemen.
JAMES BRAIDWOOD.
Then, about an hour after the alarm had been given, a loud explosion startled the people; a bright tongue of flame shot upward through the smoke, and seemed to strike downward also to the ground, while the whole building became a sheet of fire.
The neighbouring buildings became involved; rivers of fire burst out of windows, ran down walls, and actually flowed along the streets. It even poured on to the waters of the Thames itself. Melted tallow and oil flowed along as they burned, like liquid fire. No wonder the conflagration spread rapidly. Less than two hours after the call had been received—that is, at about six o'clock—the fire had extended to eight large warehouses.
The heat now became overpowering. Drifting clouds of smoke obscured the calm evening sky, and spread like a pall overhead. In spite of all efforts, the fierce conflagration gained continually on the men; it leaped over a space between the buildings, and attacked a block of warehouses on the opposite side. The roaring of the flames, the thick smoke, and the curious, disagreeable smells arising from the various goods which were burning, became almost unbearable.
The men suffered greatly from exhaustion; and Mr. Braidwood, seeing their distress, procured refreshments. He was dividing them among the men as he stood near the second building which had caught fire, when again a loud explosion rent the air, and the wall of the warehouse was seen to be falling.
"Run for your lives!" was the cry; and the men, seized for once with panic, rushed away. Mr. Braidwood and a gentleman with him followed; but unhappily they were not in time, and with a loud crash the huge wall fell upon them, and crushed them to the ground with tons of heavy masonry.
"Let us save them!" cried the men; and a score hurried to the spot. But again a third explosion occurred, a mass of burning material was hurled on the fatal heap, all around fell the fire, and rescue was seen to be hopeless.
THE TOOLEY STREET FIRE, 1861.
As if in triumph, the flames swept on and mounted higher. Wharf after wharf was involved, and warehouse after warehouse. The Depôt Wharf, Chamberlain's Wharf, and others caught fire. Night seemed turned into day by the blaze. Ships near the wharves, laden with the same inflammable materials of oil, and tar, and tallow, became ignited; and the blazing liquids poured out on the river, forming a lake of fire a quarter-mile long by a hundred yards wide.
People crowded everywhere to see the sight. They thronged house-tops and church-steeples. Boatmen ventured near to pick up such goods as they might be able to find, and were threatened with dire peril. Some fainted from the heat. A barge drifted near with three men aboard, who were so overcome that they could not manage their cumbersome craft; a skiff approached sufficiently near to rescue the men, after which the barge drifted nearer still, and was burnt.
Though greatly dispirited by the loss of their captain, the firemen fought doggedly on. But still their efforts seemed unavailing. Flakes of fire fell in all directions, and huge volumes of flame flashed upward to the sky. The whole of Bermondsey seemed in peril, and at one period the fire blazed for close upon a quarter-mile along the river-bank.
Through the night more engines clattered up from distant stations, and the firemen fought the flames at every step of their destructive career. Tons of water were poured upon each building as it became threatened, only, however, to yield in course of time.
The wind saved the old church of St. Olave's, and also London Bridge Station; but the fire raged along the wharves. Sometimes great warehouse walls fell into the river with a gigantic splash, revealing the inferno of white-hot fire raging behind them.
At length the fire reached Hay's Wharf, which was supposed to be fireproof, and for long it justified the name. But at last it also yielded; the upper part began to blaze, and, in spite of the quantities of water thrown upon the roof and walls, the fire gradually increased.
Now beyond the building lay a dock, in which were berthed two ships. The tide had been too low to allow of their removal. If they could not be towed out in time, the fire would probably seize them, and thus be wafted over the dock to the other side.
Would the tide rise in time to allow the ships to be hauled out? It was a critical moment, and the firemen must have worked their hardest to keep the building from flaming too quickly.
Gradually the tide flowed higher and higher. No matter what happens in the mighty city, twice in the day and night does the Thames silently ebb and flow; and now the quiet flowing of the tide helped to save the great city on its bank. Just in time two tugs were able to enter the dock. The towing-ropes were thrown aboard; but even as the vessels were passing out, the flames, as if determined not to lose their prey, darted from the building, and set the rigging of one ship aflame.
But the firemen were as quick as their enemy. An engine threw a torrent of water on the burning ship, and promptly quenched the flames. And so, amid the plaudits of the huge crowds on both sides of the river, the two ships were slowly towed to a place of safety, and the fierce fire was left face to face with the empty dock.
The quiet dock was successful. The wide space filling up with water from the flowing tide stopped the progress of the fire. This stoppage must have occurred about five o'clock on the following morning; but within the area already covered by the conflagration, fire continued to burn for a month.
Even after the first seven days, a fresh explosion and flash of flame showed the danger of the conflagration, now fortunately confined within limits. In fact, July 22nd had dawned before it was entirely extinguished, the total loss being estimated at about two millions sterling.
Nearly all the goods destroyed were of the most inflammable description. There were nine thousand casks of tallow and three hundred tuns of olive oil, beside thousands of bales of cotton, two thousand parcels of bacon, and other valuable merchandise. The tallow, no doubt, burned the fiercest and the most persistently. Melting with the intense heat, it poured out into cellars and streets, where much of it speedily caught fire. The floors of nine vaults, each measuring 100 by 20 feet, were covered two feet deep with melted tallow and palm oil, and all helped to feed the fire. No wonder it burned for days, if such material fed the flames, although the firemen continued to pour water on the ruins. Some of the tallow, found floating on the river, was collected, and sold at twopence per pound.
Mr. Braidwood's body was found on June 24th, so charred as to be scarcely recognizable. He was buried at Abney Park Cemetery, and was accorded the honour of a great public funeral. The London Rifle-Brigade attended, as well as large bodies of firemen and of the police, and an immense concourse of the general public. So large a multitude, it was said, had not attended any funeral since the obsequies of the Duke of Wellington.
A proposition was made to raise a public fund for the benefit of Mr. Braidwood's widow and six children, and a large sum was subscribed; but it was announced that the Insurance Companies had amply provided for his family.
The neighbourhood of Southwark, where the fatal fire occurred, has been the scene of many remarkable conflagrations. In the same year as the famous Tooley Street fire, Davis's Wharf at Horselydown was burnt, involving a loss of about £15,000; while at a large fire at Dockhead two or three years later, vast quantities of saltpetre, corn, jute, and flour were consumed. A brisk wind favoured the flames, and hundreds of tons of saltpetre flashed up into fire. Bright sparks and flame-coloured smoke floated over the conflagration, and were wafted by the wind, accompanied by deafening reports and great flashes of fire.
Numbers of other conflagrations have occurred in this neighbourhood. The streets were narrow, and the district was full of warehouses, containing all kinds of merchandise, which burnt like tinder when fairly ignited. Imagine coffee and cloves, sulphur and saltpetre, oil, turpentine, and tallow all afire! What a commingling of odours and of strange-coloured flame!
The bacon frizzles; the corn parches and chars; the flour mixes with the water, then dries and smoulders in the great heat, and smells like burning bread; the preserved tongues diffuse an offensive odour of burning flesh; while the commingling of cinnamon and salt, mustard and macaroni, jams and figs and liquorice, unite to make a hideous combination of coloured flames, sickening smells, and thick and lurid smoke. The huge warehouses built in this district since the closing years of the eighteenth century are filled with all kinds of goods from various parts of the world; but of all the disastrous fires which have ravaged the district, the great Tooley Street fire of 1861 has been the worst.
Moreover, it will always be memorable for the death of Braidwood. Even now you may hear men in the London Fire-Brigade speak of Braidwood or Braidwood's time, and his memory has become a noble tradition in the service. So great an authority had he become on the subject of fire extinction, and so highly was he held in public esteem, that his terrible death in the performance of his duty was regarded as a national calamity.
But the conflagration also revealed with startling clearness the inadequacy of the Companies' Fire Establishment. More appliances and more men were wanted. The companies were asked, "Will you increase your organization?" And their answer, put briefly, was, "No."
Thereupon, in 1862, a Parliamentary Commission was instituted to enquire into the matter, and in due time the commission reported. It recommended that a brigade should be established; the companies consulted with the Home Secretary and the Metropolitan Board of Works; and in 1865 an Act was passed placing the brigade under the Metropolitan Board, the change to take place as, and from January 1st, 1866.
This was practically the establishment of a Municipal Fire-Brigade, though it was also provided that every company insuring property for loss by fire in London should contribute to the cost of the brigade at the rate of £35 for every million pounds of the gross amounts insured, except by way of reassurance; the Government were also to pay £10,000 a year for the protection of public buildings; while the Metropolitan Board itself was empowered to levy a rate not exceeding a halfpenny in the pound in support of the organization.
In 1863, the Fire-Engine Establishment had increased to a hundred and thirty men with twenty stations; but the Metropolitan Board were given power to construct further engines and stations, to act in conjunction with a salvage corps, to obtain the services of the men, and to divide the metropolis into suitable districts. Such powers would enable the Board greatly to strengthen the brigade.
The Act also provided that the firemen should be placed under command of an officer, to be called the Chief Officer of the Metropolitan Fire-Brigade; and a gentleman was appointed who had had experience of similar duties at Belfast, and who was for long to be popularly known in London as Captain Shaw.
And on the very day when the new arrangements came in force a great fire occurred, as if to roughly remind the organization of its responsibilities and test its powers.