Queen Square—Incidents in the Burning—The Old Pitcher—"God is burning up the World, and He won't make another"—Saved from the flames—Overtaken by Fire three times—The Night of Terror on Queen Square—Alone amidst Perils—The Lone House on the Square—Three People under a Table—The sailor—"If I Die to-night sir, hunt them up"—The escape—The Deserted Streets—An Anomaly—The Marine Hospital—What a few Buckets of Water Did—The Wiggins Orphan Asylum—The block in Canterbury street—The News office—Savings Bank.
Some of the most terrible incidents of the fire took place during the burning of Queen Square. The flames carrying away Mr. Manson's residence on the corner of Sydney Street and the square, had entered Mr. A. L. Palmer's house soon afterwards, and then the whole block was hurried to destruction. The square was filled with the savings of the people, not alone of those who lived hard by, but many things were here that had been carried to the vacant space from a long distance early that day. There was bedding in abundance, and all round about little heaps of general household stuff lay guarded by women and boys. This for a time was the haven of safety, and the broad field looked like a vast warehouse. Chairs and bedsteads and even stoves and old pipes were piled in hopeless confusion one upon the other. In the hurry people had taken that which they had seen first, and the common things of the kitchen were saved while the rich furniture of the drawing-room was left to perish. A man congratulated
himself upon saving an old tub and a dipper, while the books in the library lay untouched save by the fire, and private papers that he could easily have slipped into his pocket, burned before his
eyes. A lady told her husband to be careful and take a bag which contained the massive silver plate of her family for a century, and in the moving it was found that he had saved the rag-bag instead. A man who had been a prosperous merchant lost his all, and the little savings he had scraped together in a decade of years seemed to melt before him, but he that night knelt and thanked his God that his wife and child were by his side. These treasures were near him and all else might go. He had his strong and willing hands still left, and a firm spirit, and though for a while he would miss the little comforts he had been accustomed to, yet would he battle with the world again, and in the coming years try to win back some of the fruits he had lost. Men in the excitement knew not what to take first, and pianos were thrown out of three-story windows, while carpets that had worn worthily and well till they had become heir-looms in the family, were carefully borne down stairs on the broad shoulders of stout porters. A thousand human beings stood in the square watching the flames lashing the buildings before them. John Boyd, Esq's residence, one of the handsomest buildings in the city, richly furnished and equipped with costly books, was attacked on both sides, and soon forced to yield and go down like the less substantial buildings at its side. The house of G. B. Cushing, Esq., was of wood, and it was not
long before the site on which it stood was level with the ground. Before the house of Mr. E. L. Jewett, once the home of the late Dr. Gray, had taken fire, a gentleman tried to save it by standing on the roof and dashing a pitcher of water on the sparks as they caught vulnerable spots. For an hour or more he stood there with his pitcher, when it became evident to him that no effort that he could make would save the building, and he got down, leaving the pitcher standing on a ledge of the chimney. The fire shortly afterwards burned the building, and left the long chimney standing against the sky; and the next day when the spot was visited, and people walked over the heap of ashes that had once been a household, all that was saved was the old pitcher, that still stood on the ledge of the chimney solitary and alone. It told the story of the desolation more eloquently than tongue of orator could speak, or pen of a Macaulay could describe. The house of ex-Mayor Woodward, with its hundreds of curiosities and old relics, including Major André's gun and a score of Continental dollars, caught in the rear, and lived but a few minutes in the flames. But so it was all round the square. When Mrs. Stevenson's strong house was going to pieces, a flock of pigeons hovering near it were drawn in by the heat; they whirled about for an instant, turned and rushed into the vortex, and perished in a second. A cat, maddened and wild, cut off from all escape, dashed along, when the fire pursued her, and she stood still. On Thursday morning she was still standing in the same place. Her frame only could be seen, with
head up and tail erect; it was a ghastly sight. It was during the conflagration on the square, that a little child, five years old, sat by the window of his grandfather's house, then in fancied security, and looked out at the flames. The little fellow for awhile could not speak. He became pale with terror, and with a loud cry he burst out with this thought: "O, pa, pa, come and see! God is burning up the world, and He won't make another, and He won't make another!" It was in vain they tried to pacify him, he still continued his cry, and it was only when far away from the dreadful scene which roused so strangely his youthful imagination, that he became calm.
VIEW FROM QUEEN SQUARE.
But there were other incidents in this quarter of the city which deserve more than a passing notice. There were deeds of heroism done and hours of agony endured that should be recorded and remembered. There were exploits exhibiting a broad humanity and great self-sacrifice performed, that should not be forgotten or go down unrecognised. We had heroes in our midst that night, and the man who climbed three stories of a house enveloped in the flames, and snatched the sleeping infant from its crib, and brought her safe to her agonized mother in the square below, is as surely as brave as "he who taketh a city," or marches against the invader of his country. If there are decorations of honour to be given, let them be bestowed on those noble ones who saved lives that day. A case has come under the writer's notice which deserves the fullest publicity. Mr. D. R. Munro, after working at John McDougall's place in York Point for some time, and