CHAPTER XVIII.
The Destruction—The Loss—Estimates—The Acreage and Streetage—Has the Land Decreased in Value?—Incomes swept away—What is Left—Hope!—The Insurance—The Corporation Loss—The Dominion Loss—Additional Deaths—The Wounded—The Orange Body.
In forming an estimate of the destruction which the fire has caused great care has been exercised. I have been careful to verify every statement I advance. Thoroughly competent engineers have, at my request, re-surveyed the area through which the fire raged, and I am therefore in a position to give reliable information on a subject which has given rise to much speculation and doubt. The acreage has been taken and the streetage made and the result has shown that the fire destroyed two hundred acres of territory and nine and six-tenths miles of streets. To be more exact the acreage is not quite two hundred acres but so very near it that it may be accepted at that estimate. Not more than two-fifths of the city have been burned and the reader will see the truth of this when he comes to consider that Carleton which forms a part of this city has been untouched by the flames, and all the upper portion of the city has escaped. While the acreage and streetage shew that the city is not totally destroyed, yet what has been burned represented enormous value. The fire penetrated to the very heart of the great commercial centre of St. John. It laid waste the fairest portion of the city. It swept away the palace-houses of our wealthy people
and destroyed nearly every public building in the place. When one considers all these circumstances and begins to realize the situation, he is apt to form too high an estimate of the loss. He looks around him while going about surveying the ruins, and on every side he sees the great waste and the figures forming in his head grow larger and larger as he proceeds to sum up the result of the sad fire. Every man has his own opinion, and it is curious to observe how widely diversified these opinions are. The cautious man places it at fifteen millions, and his hot blooded and visionary friend with equal show of reason estimates the loss at nearly fifty millions. The estimate ranges widely and wildly. The books of the assessors on examination show a loss to property of much less value than even the owners put upon it before the fire. But one can see how fallacious these results are, when the reader learns that in making up the assessments the assessors value a merchant's stock at not what it is, but what in their opinion they think it should be. For instance, a man has three hundred thousand dollars worth of stock in warehouse. He really owns about fifty thousand dollars worth and owes for the balance. He is not taxed on his debts but on what he is worth. Yet the fire carried away the sum total of the goods in his possession. The assessors' books show hardly a tithe of the actual value of the loss. It can only be correctly stated after a thorough examination, and as nearly as can be ascertained the entire destruction throughout the city reaches upwards of twenty-seven millions of dollars. This is the loss in
solid value. But that much money will not replace the goods thus destroyed. There were many things burned which were of what might be called fancy value, and which money can in no way replace. And in making our estimate these things have been valued only nominally. The loss, therefore, in round figures, is not a whit below the amount we have given, $27,000,000. The talk about taxable property is all nonsense. Every man who says so, knows that he is talking nonsense. Hardly a man lives to-day who is taxed in the proportion that he should be. The richer a man is, the more easily he can hide his wealth, and an examination of the assessment books will enable any reader to find a hundred examples in proof of this. Another argument is brought forward. We are told that the land is not burned up, and in that land there is great value. That is true enough, every word of it. The land is not burned out of existence. It is still where it was, but it is by no means as valuable as it was before the fire. A thousand circumstances were brought to bear on it, locality, desirability, and necessity, and all these had an influence in enhancing its value. Most of these reasons, and cogent reasons they were too at the time, have now gone out with the fire. Men who thought they must have a piece of land because it was in a good situation, and because it was located near their own lots, were ready to buy what they wanted at a good price, often merely to carry out some hobby or idea paramount in their minds. But these ideas have vanished. This hobby can be ridden no longer. He can have the lot now if he wants it, at a good
deal lower rate than he offered for it, but he can't afford it. The owner's means are swept away, and he cannot afford to build again, and is anxious to sell his land, that he can go and rent a house to live in. The land in almost every part of the burnt district will drop, and has already dropped, in value. It is still there, and so it was there a hundred years ago. It is more valuable now than it was then. I don't pretend to say that we are no better off than when the loyalists landed, for we are. Our roads are laid out; our people are thrifty, enterprising, and skilful. The greater portion of the city is still intact. We have a splendid system of water supply and sewerage. We have, or, will have very soon, gas burning again. We will have comforts once more. But what I do mean to say is, that it will take very many years to build the city up again as it was before the fire. It will take very many years to enable the land-owner to realize anything like the price he once commanded for his property. Of course, in the leading business streets there will be but little difference, though it will be felt in a good many quarters. Take some portions of King and Prince William streets, for example. Some men realized a snug income from the rental of the shanties which were erected on good business sites in these streets. They owned the land, and the shanties were theirs. Their whole income came from this source. Their wooden buildings yielded them a far more handsome return for their outlay than many of the massive brick buildings near them did to their owners. Why was this? Simply because they were in a good locality. These shanties
are now level with the earth. The revenue is swept away.
These men own the land, but their means are gone. They cannot rebuild. If they did, the rent they would receive would be far less than the rookeries yielded, and they must sell their property or mortgage it. The land has lost a great deal of its value, and it will take a long time for it to regain that loss. We must look these things boldly and seriously in the face. No reflection is made on the people when these statements are advanced. No more enterprising populace lives than the people of St. John. Many are used to hard work. They have hewn out of the solid rock one of the most beautiful cities in the Dominion. They have met a thousand obstacles in their path, and they have swept them all aside. And they will ride over their calamity and begin again the hard road upward. They will rebuild the city once more, and plant bright things where ruin and despair now stand, but we must not flatter ourselves that we have lost nothing, and that our land has not deteriorated in value. It is as wrong to be over sanguine as it is to give way to gloom and do nothing to better our misfortunes. We must work with determination and lose no time. We must show the world—that kind world which has fed the mouths of our poor and clothed the unfortunate—that there is backbone and muscle still left in the city, and that while we have men to work we have no women to weep. It might have been worse. We have lost lives, we have lost all our buildings—we have lost everything that goes to make home
happy, cheerful and bright—we have lost our stores and shops
—we have lost a hundred comforts—but, thank God, we have not lost our glorious hope in the future. In that hope is our salvation. It is that hope which stirs us on, which quickens our energy, which tells us that it might truly have been worse. It is the one beautiful thing that is left to us. It is the angel which smiles back to us when we raise our eyes upward. It is the figure in the cloud which says to prostrate man, "Rouse, rouse yourself! all is not lost, there is a future for you all." Ah, yes, it might have been worse. There is desolation all around—there is death in many households—there is mourning and crying and moaning—but hope still sailing grandly near us, so near that we can almost touch her, still smiling sweetly on us, tells us all will yet be well and bids us be of good cheer.