A Little Girl in Old New York

by Amanda M. Douglas

Later on the fights and disturbances became so bitter that the police had to interfere, and as the city grew larger some new method of expediting matters had to be considered. But the "fire laddies" were a brave, generous set of men, who turned out any time of day or night and dragged their heavy engines over the rough cobble-stones with a spirit and enthusiasm hard to match. They received no pay, but were exempt from jury duty, and after a number of years of service had certain privileges granted them. Jim counted strongly on being a fireman. John had sometimes gone to fires but was not a "regular."

But all differences were forgotten in the "great fire," as it was called for a long time. There had been one about ten years before that had devastated a large part of the city. And in February of this year there had been quite a tragic one in the Tribune Building. There was a fierce drifting snowstorm, so deep it was impossible to drag the engines through it, and some of the hydrants were frozen. Men had jumped from the windows to save their lives, and there had been quite a panic.

Early in the gray dawn of July nineteenth, a watchman discovered flames issuing from an oil store on New Street. A carpenter shop next door was soon in flames. A large building in which quantities of saltpetre was stored caught next. A dense smoke filled the air, and a sudden explosive sound shot out a long tongue of flame that crossed the street. At intervals of a few moments others followed, causing everybody to fly for their lives. And at last one grand deafening burst like a tremendous clap of thunder, and the whole vicinity was in a blaze. Bricks and pieces of timber flew through the air, injuring many people. Then the fire spread far and wide, one vast, roaring, crackling sheet of flame. One brave fireman and several other people were killed, and Engine 22 was wrecked in the explosion.

It was said at first that powder had been stored in the building, but it was proved on investigation that the saltpetre alone was the dangerous agent. Three hundred and forty-five buildings were destroyed, at a loss, it was estimated, of ten millions of dollars. For days there was an immense throng about the place. The ruins extended from Bowling Green to Exchange Place.

A relic of Revolutionary times perished in this fire. The bell of the famous Provost prison, that had been used by the British during their occupancy of the city, had been removed when the building was remodelled and placed on the Bridewell at the west of the City Hall, and used for a fire-alarm bell. When the Bridewell had been destroyed it was transferred to the cupola of the Naiad Hose Company in Beaver Street. It rang out its last alarm that morning, for engine house and bell perished in the flames.

Stephen had been very fortunate in that he was out of the fire district. He took Margaret and Hanny down to view the great space heaped with blackened débris, and when a fire alarm was given the little girl used to shiver with fright for months afterward.

And now schools were considering their closing exercises, and parents of big boys were puzzled to know just where to start them in life. Ben declared his preference at last—he wanted to be some sort of a newspaper man.

They called Mr. Whitney in to council. He was not quite sure he would recommend beginning there. It would be better to learn the trade thoroughly at such a place as the Harpers'. Then there would always be something to fall back upon. Steve did not cordially approve, and Dr. Joe was quite disappointed. He was ready to help Ben through college.

Newspaper people did not rank as high then as now. There was a good deal of what came to be called Bohemianism among them, and it was not of the artistic type. For the one really good position there were a dozen precarious ones.

Aunt Nancy Archer rather amused them with another objection. She wasn't at all sure the publishing of so many novels was conducive to the advancement of morals and religion. She never could quite understand how so good a man as Brother Harper could lend it countenance. When she was young the girls of her time were reading Hannah More. And there was Mrs. Chapone's letters, and now Charlotte Elizabeth and Mrs. Sigourney.