OFFICIAL REPORT OF THE FIRE AT THE TOWER.
The document with this title, that has got into the newspapers, has been dressed up for the public eye. We have obtained the original draft, and beg to administer it to our readers neat, in the precise language it was written in.
THE OFFICIAL REPORT.
MR. SNOOKS says, that it being his turn to be on watch on the night of Saturday, October 30th, he went to his duty as usual, and having turned into his box, slept until he was amazed by shouts and the rolling of wheels in all directions. The upper door of his box being open, he looked out of it, and his head struck violently against something hard, upon which he attempted to open the lower door of his box, when he found he could not. Thinking there was something wrong, he became very active in raising an alarm, but could obtain no attention; and he has since found that in the hurry of moving property from different parts of the building, his box had been closely barricaded; and he, consequently, was compelled to remain in it until the following morning. He says, however, that everything was quite safe in the middle of the day when he took his great-coat to his box, and trimmed his lantern ready for the evening.
MRS. SNOOKS, wife of the above witness, corroborates the account of her husband, so far as trimming the lanthern in the daytime is concerned, and also as to his being encased in his box until the morning. She had no anxiety about him, because she had been distinctly told that the fire did not break out until past ten, and her husband she knew was sure to be snug in his box by that time.
JOHN JONES, a publican, says, at about nine o’clock on Saturday, the 30th of October, he saw a light in the Tower, which flickered very much like a candle, as if somebody was continually blowing one out and blowing it in again. He observed this for about half an hour, when it began to look as if several gas-lights were in the room and some one was turning the gas on and off very rapidly. After this he went to bed, and was disturbed shortly before midnight by hearing that the Tower was in flames.
SERGEANT FIPS, of the Scotch Fusileer (Qy. Few sillier) Guards, was at a public-house on Tower-hill, when, happening to go to the door, he observed a large quantity of thick smoke issuing from one of the windows of the Tower. Knowing that Major Elrington, the deputy governor, was fond of a cigar, he thought nothing of the circumstance of the smoke, and was surprised in about half an hour to see flames issuing from the building.
GEORGE SNIVEL saw the fire bursting from the Tower on Saturday night, and being greatly frightened he ran home to his mother as soon as possible. His mother called him a fool, and said it was the gas-works.
THOMAS POPKINS rents a back attic at Rotherhithe; he had been peeling an onion on the 30th of October, and went to the window for the purpose of throwing out the external coat of the vegetable mentioned in the beginning of his testimony, when he saw a large fire burning somewhere, with some violence. Not thinking it could be the Tower, he went to bed after eating the onion—which has been already twice alluded to in the course of his evidence.
MR. SWIFT, of the Jewel-office, says, that he saw the Tower burning at the distance of about three acres from where the jewels are kept, when his first thought was to save the regalia. For this purpose he rushed to the scene of the conflagration and desired everybody who would obey him, to leave what they were about and follow him to that part of the Tower set apart for the jewels. Several firemen were induced to quit the pumps, and having prevailed on a large body of soldiers, he led them and a vast miscellaneous mob to the apartments where the crown, &c., were deposited. After a considerable quantity of squeezing, screaming, cursing, and swearing, it was discovered that the key was missing, when the jewel-room was carried by storm, and the jewels safely lodged in some other part of the building. When witness returned to the fire, it was quite out, and the armoury totally demolished.
The whole of the official report is in the same satisfactory strain, but we do not feel ourselves justified in printing any more of it.
A CON-CERTED CON.
“When is the helm of a ship like a certain English composer?”—said the double bass to the trombone in the orchestra of Covent Garden Theatre, while resting themselves the other evening between the acts of Norma.—The trombone wished he might be blowed if he could tell.—“When it is A-lee” quoth the bass—rosining his bow with extraordinary delight at his own conceit.
RECONCILING A DIFFERENCE.
Two literary partisans were lately contending with considerable warmth, for the superiority of Tait’s or Blackwood’s Magazine—till from words they fell to blows, and decided the dispute by the argumentum ad hominem.—Doctor Maginn, hearing of the circumstance, observed to a friend, that however the pugnacious gentleman’s opinions might differ with respect to Tait and Blackwood, it was evident they were content to decide them by a Frazer (fray sir).
OUR WEATHERCOCK.
The state of the weather, at all times an object of intense interest and general conversation amongst Englishmen, has latterly engaged much of our attention; and the observations which we have made on the extraordinary changes which have taken place in the weathercock during the last week warrant us in saying “there must be something in the wind.” It has been remarked that Mr. Macready’s Hamlet and Mr. Dubourg’s chimneys have not drawn well of late. A smart breeze sprung up between Mr. and Mrs. Smith, of Brixton, on last Monday afternoon, which increased during the night, and ended in a perfect storm. Sir Peter Laurie on the same evening retired to bed rather misty, and was exceedingly foggy all the following morning. At the Lord Mayor’s dinner the glass was observed to rise and fall several times in a most remarkable manner, and at last settled at “heavy wet.” A flock of gulls were seen hovering near Crockford’s on Tuesday, and on that morning the milkman who goes the Russell-square walk was observed to blow the tips of his fingers at the areas of numerous houses. Applications for food were made by some starving paupers to the Relieving Officers of different workhouses, but the hearts of those worthy individuals were found to be completely frozen. Notwithstanding the severity of the weather, the nose of the beadle of St. Clement Danes has been seen for nearly the last fortnight in full blossom. A heavy fall of blankets took place on Wednesday, and the fleecy covering still lies on several beds in and near the metropolis. Expecting frost to set in, Sir Robert Peel has been busily employed on his sliding scale; in fact, affairs are becoming very slippery in the Cabinet, and Sir James Graham is already preparing to trim his sail to the next change of wind. Watercresses, we understand, are likely to be scarce; there is a brisk demand for “bosom friends” amongst unmarried ladies; and it is feared that the intense cold which prevails at nights will drive some unprovided young men into the union.
THE BANE AND ANTIDOTE.
We are requested to state that the insane person who lately attempted to obtain an entrance into Buckingham Palace was not the Finsbury renegade, Mr. Wakley. We are somewhat surprised that the rumour should have obtained circulation, as the unfortunate man is described as being of respectable appearance.
THE CORSAIR.
A POEM TO BE READ ON RAILROADS.
The sky was dark—the sea was rough;
The Corsair’s heart was brave and tough;
The wind was high—the waves were steep;
The moon was veil’d—the ocean deep;
The foam against the vessel dash’d:
The Corsair overboard was wash’d.
A rope in vain was thrown to save—
The brine is now the Corsair’s grave!
As it is expected that the jogging and jerking, or the sudden passing through tunnels, may in some degree interfere with the perusal of this poem, we give it with the abbreviations, as it is likely to be read with the drawbacks alluded to.
Wherever there is a dash—it is supposed there will be a jolt of the vehicle.
CORSAIR-POEM.
—sky—dark—sea—rough;
—Corsair—brave—tough;
—wind—high—waves steep;
—moon—veil’d—oce—deep;
—foam—gainst—vess—dash’d;
—Corsair—board—wash’d.
—rope—vain—to save,
—brine—Cors—grave.
“STUPID AS A ‘POST.’”
The Morning Post has made another blunder. Lord Abinger, it seems, is too Conservative to resign. After all the editorial boasting about “exclusive information,” “official intelligence,” &c. it is very evident that the “Morning Twaddler” must not be looked upon as a direction post.
We learn that a drama of startling interest, founded upon a recent event of singular horror, is in active preparation at the Victoria Theatre. It is to be entitled “Cavanagh the Culprit; or, the Irish Saveloyard.” The interest of the drama will be immensely strengthened by the introduction of the genuine knife with which the fatal ham was cut. Real saveloys will also be eaten by the Fasting Phenomenon before the audience.
“Never saw such stirring times,” as the spoon said to the saucepan.