OLD AND YOUNG CRUSHED TOGETHER.

“Old and young crushed by the falling timbers, were one by one dragged from debris six to twenty feet deep. Aged fathers were clinging to more robust forms; children clutching to mother’s skirts, young girls with their arms around brothers, mothers clasping babes to their bosoms. These were the melancholy sights seen by those digging among the ruins. In dozens and scores the bodies were turned up by pick and shovel, rake and axe. Away to the left the wreckage stretched two miles to Seventh street; to the right, a mile to Fortieth street down town.

“Popular sentiment insists that the west end be burned, but the military authorities have hesitated to give the order. Father Kerwin and Captain Morrissey urge that the wreckage be fired at once, and it will probably be done.

“Men are making ready to apply the torch. Fire engines are out on the beach. A road runs through the wreckage separating it from houses not wholly destroyed. When water is running freely in the mains the fire will be started. Fires are burning at intervals all along the beach over the gulf front, raising clouds of smoke, which stretches far along the coast.

“The streets are clearing rapidly; many in the centre of the town are to-day readily passable. Along the Bay and Gulf fronts, however, the wreckage still chokes the streets. Sanitary conditions are steadily improving. Physicians do not disguise the danger to the city, but do not expect an epidemic. Five of them declared to-day that if the refuse was completely burned, the streets were thoroughly disinfected and the sewers quickly put in order, there would be no pestilence.