then going to the assistance of an old lady who was striving to save her bedding, started for Lower Cove in the direction of Mr. Tucker's house. On his way he noticed with alarm the extraordinary headway which the fire was making. Trinity and St. Andrew's were on fire, and the Victoria Hotel just catching. Some of the streets were so blocked up with people, and thick with flame and smoke, that he could not pass them. He had to go through Chipman's field, but he could not get further along Prince William Street. Germain Street was the only way open to him, and by this thoroughfare he journeyed till he reached Queen Square. Here Mrs. Freeman, the rigger's wife, was gathering together her scattered effects, when her little children raised the cry, "Quick, quick, mother's on fire! Save my mother!" Mr. Munro and a companion rushed in, seized Mrs. Freeman, wound a carpet about her, and tried to smother the flames with their hands. As soon as the carpet was removed from her person, the fire again seized her, when her clothes had to be torn from her and she was rolled on the grass with a table-cloth wrapped tightly around her. This saved her life, and she escaped the awful death which seemed so imminent. Mrs. Tucker's house was by this time in great danger, the leaping flames were expected momentarily to snatch it from its base, and people were beginning to get the furniture away before the shock came. For a moment Mr. Munro lay on the grass, unable to resume his exertions. He had worked from three in the afternoon till it was nearly eight o'clock, and with hands and face burned he
rested on the grass. But his rest was of short duration, for on looking up a sight met his eyes which filled his soul with horror. Mrs. Tucker's house was on fire and she herself seemed in the very heart of the flames. He almost flew to her, the courage of the lion and the quickness of Mercury seemed to come to him all at once, and he was by her side in an instant. Three times her bonnet caught, and as often was the blaze extinguished. Mrs. Tucker seemed deaf to all requests of her friends, who in vain entreated her to go away and leave her house and furniture to their fate. She still remained by the few things she had borne away, and it was after eight o'clock before she sought a place of safety. A sailor was working in the cellar of her house, passing the things he managed to lay hands on through the window. He was not aware of his danger, for when he had got in, the flames were a good distance off, and when he was discovered the house was on fire. In a few moments, it would come crushing down and bury him in the ruins. Mr. Munro hastened to his relief. Through his labours the man was rescued, for he had not been out a hundred seconds, when, in a mass of ruins, the house came tumbling down. The sailor, who gave his name as Robert Angus, 2nd officer of the ship "Asiana," sought with Mr. Munro a refuge in the square, for all hope of getting away by any of the streets was cut off. Both sides of Charlotte Street and Sydney Street were on fire, and from St. Andrew's Street all means of exit were away. The two men stood on the square and looked around them. Strange emotions filled their
breasts. They were alone, standing in the centre of one of the greatest conflagrations they had ever seen. All round them the giant flames gathered, and closer and closer, and narrower and narrower the circle became. The Pagoda in their rear was blazing. The posts here and there burned at the tops, like so many huge candles. Not a soul was to be seen on the square but themselves. The streets were deserted. Every one had fled. The little nests of scattered effects burned on every side of them, and the stench from smouldering feathers and domestic animals who died by the score, was intolerable. Neither man for some minutes spoke. Both looked out into the night. One can guess what thoughts entered their heads. The advancing fire interrupted their reveries, and as they could not escape from the plain in which they were imprisoned, they looked about them for means of preservation from the intense heat, which became greater at every moment. An old pine table was brought up to the camping ground they had selected. A headstone of marble that was lying at their feet, was placed at the head of it, and a carpet was wrapped around them. In this primitive wigwam the men resolved to pass the night. The prospect before them was gloomy enough. Just before getting into this cabin, an old woman came hobbling up towards them, crying aloud for help. They invited her to share their kennel. She accepted the invitation and the three refugees watched the flames on every side of them for two hours. There was silence for a while when the sailor, who all through had exhibited such nerve and cool
ness, now showed signs of trepidation and fear. He began to talk of his home in England, of his wife and children, and the strong man who could do so much for others, fairly broke down and wept bitter tears. "Who will take care of them now, sir," he broke out with a wail. "If I die to-night, hunt them up and tell them how I died. It is not for myself I feel, but for them, poor bodies. You know my name and ship, sir, any of my mess-mates will know what to do if you tell them what became of poor Bob Angus." It would indeed move a sterner heart than Mr. Munro's, to hear a man like this talk in a way like that. The sailor who had breasted the billows of the ocean so long that he had begun to look upon them as his playthings, crouched that night in his little box in Queen Square, weeping for the loved ones at home, far, far away. Mrs. Donovan who sat beside the sailor tried to cheer him up, but it was useless, and her words of comfort only made him feel worse and writhe in greater agony.
At last, for there is an end to all things, a bold sortie was proposed, and each of the prisoners sought to force a way out of their natural prison. Each took a direction, and in the dead of that awful night they made their way. The hydra-head of the monster ruin withered them at every turn. Giant walls fell crumbling at their feet, and the fire flashed and the flames flickered on the heaps of debris which they encountered on the sideways of their journey. Not a soul could be seen in the streets. They met no living thing. The silence was as terrible to them as it is to the lonely pilgrim of the forest, or the traveller in the distant
arctic, who shrieks ever and anon lest he go mad from the effect of that awful solitude. When the parties met at the corner they separated and each groped his way homeward through the desert of desolation. Mr. Munro's loss is very heavy. In working for others he neglected his own interests, and many of his personal effects have passed away.
On St. James Street, two buildings stood. One was a very massive and very beautiful structure, of no precise form of architecture, but very chaste and elegant for all that. The other was an old wooden barn-like house that had been decaying for years, and was only waiting to be torn down by some passing high wind. These two buildings were situate within a stones throw of each other, and the one could have been saved just as well as the other. A little nerve, a little will, and a few pails of water would have done the work. The Marine Hospital was built in a garden. It was a useful sort of affair in its day, but it had long ago done all the good that was expected of it. Its day was past, and it must soon have given way to a fine brick structure, to be located on its site. When the fire came tearing along, decimating the buildings in every block, Mr. Barnes, the keeper, and a few of the inmates stationed themselves in good positions, and began a vigorous defence of the old place. A number of well directed buckets of water, plied rapidly when the fire showed itself, was all that these men did, and the old building was saved. The fire was stubborn, for it tried a hundred times to gain a foothold, but the men who defended the hospital
were just as indomitable, and the defence was a great success. The hospital now stands in all its grim shabbiness and ugliness, though a barn near by, filled with goods of all kinds, including a piano, of course, perished. People from a distance, who came days afterwards to witness the desolation, ask with amazement why this great house was saved, and the noble charity almost opposite, was allowed to burn. But it is hard to always fathom the short-sightedness of man. All praise is due to Mr. Barnes and his assistants, for saving even one public building, and it is a pity his example could not have been followed opposite, when the Wiggins Orphanage caught. Only one man was left in charge, and it is not expected that he could do everything in a time when all were at their wits' end and full of excitement. This splendid charity was instituted in 1867, and was founded by the late Stephen Wiggins. It was opened July 1, 1876, and erected at a cost of $80,000. Mr. Wiggins left this magnificent sum for a male Orphan Asylum, under certain provisions. These were, that each child to be admitted must be born in the City and County of St. John, preference always to be shown to fatherless children of mariners; the children must be not under the age of four nor over ten years at the time of admission, and not to be continued in the institution after reaching the age of fifteen years. No teacher could be employed who was a Unitarian, Universalist or Roman Catholic, and no Governor could act in that capacity if he were of that belief. The Governors consisted of nine gentlemen. Those at the time of the incorporation were,
the Rev. William Scovil, Charles Merritt, Frederick
A. Wiggins, Hon. John W. Weldon, Beverley Robinson, J. D. Lewin, Geo. C. Wiggins, Henry W. Frith, and the Rector of St. James' Church. When the building burned, there were twelve orphans in the Asylum, but they were safely rescued and sent to Long Island. The present Board consists of the following gentlemen: Chas. Merritt, Hon. J. D. Lewin, Rev. Wm. Armstrong, Rev. W. Scovil, Hon. J. W. Weldon, Geo. Sidney Smith, B. L. Peters, H. W. Frith Rev. F. Brigstocke, with James U. Thomas, as Secretary. At a meeting of the Governors, held on Monday, the 2nd July, it was decided to rebuild the Institute very soon. The reader will notice from the cut which is given of the Orphanage, that it presented a very pretty front, and was exceedingly well built.