[A] The exact acreage, from actual measurement is 200 acres; streetage, 9.6 miles.
CHAPTER II.
The Late Fire—Its Origin—Bravery of the Firemen—The High Wind—The Fire's Career—Fighting the Flames—Almost Lost—The Escape from the Burning Building—Destruction of Dock Street—Smyth Street in Flames—The Wharves—Demolition of Market Square—Something about the Business Houses there—The Banks—Fire checked at North Street.
The great fire, for we must distinguish it by that title, since in vastness it overpowers all other similar calamities which have befallen St. John, originated in the late Joseph Fairweather's building, York Point, Portland, at half past two on Wednesday afternoon, 20th June. The writer and Mr. Frederick R. Fairweather were walking down King Street at the time of the alarm, and, in company with hundreds of others, visited the scene of what promised at the time to be a very small affair indeed. When the place was reached, McLaughlin's boiler shop was in flames and all efforts of the firemen to put out the fire were checkmated at every turn by the fierce north-west wind which was blowing a perfect gale. In a few minutes the fire spread with alarming rapidity, and houses went down as if a mine of powder had exploded and razed them. The wind lifted from the roofs immense brands and sparks, and by three o'clock the city was in flames at a dozen points. Lower Cove was on fire, and the dryness of the houses rendered them as useless to withstand the blaze as bits of paper would have been. The huge blazing brands
were carried along in the air for miles around, and where-ever they dropped a house went down. The engines were powerless, and the firemen, though they worked like heroes, availed but little. The wild, mad flames, now in sheets, now with a million tongues of angry fork-like columns, dashed against the wharves, levelling them to the water's edge, ripping up the pavements of the streets, and crushing houses out of existence in a single swoop. Nothing could be done. The leaping demon swept all before him. Hare's Wharf with its buildings bowed before the destroyer, and with a roar which thrilled every heart, and unnerved every man who stood there, the whole force of the fire dashed into Smyth Street and shattered every building in it. J. W. Nicholson's wine vaults, Harrison's flour warehouse, Logan & Lindsay's storehouse, Robertson Place, which exceeded in value half a million of dollars, were snapped up in a second. The flames spread into Drury Lane and Mill Street, and soon both sides of Dock Street were in the common ruin. But while this was going on, the rear of the London House, in Market Square, was threatened and the old barracks in Lower Cove were on fire. A reinforcement from Carleton and Portland fire departments came to the assistance of the firemen at this juncture, and every man worked with a will. The hose was directed with admirable expertness but the high wind baffled the efforts of all who stood before it. It could rise higher than the water, and it could travel faster than man. A mass of flames at the end of Smyth Street and Drury Lane burned close to an engine,
but the dauntless firemen, holding boards over their heads to protect their faces and eyes from the heat, gave battle to the relentless foe. It was a fight of water and human endurance against fire, and fire prevailed in the end. The unequal combat lasted some minutes, and it was only when death seemed imminent that the men drew away, and even then they only yielded the ground inch by inch, till they could no longer stand up before the charging enemy. The fire was now going with headlong speed down Dock Street. Frantic women wildly sobbing filled the roads with the few sticks of furniture and portions of bedding which they had managed to save. Children hastened along crying aloud, and making the scene more dreadful as they ran barefooted over the hot sidewalk. Men with picture frames and books rushed past, calling and threatening, and moaning. It was a scene terrible in its reality. People were driven from street to street, and hurled forward, till, with horror in their blanched faces, they turned and saw in their rear the wild flames hemming them in. With many a shriek they dashed into the side streets. Some ran along Water Street, only to meet the flames there, and a few sought refuge in rafts and boats, and sped to Carleton, losing in the excitement every dollar they owned in the world. The old McSweeney lime-stone building, which came to a point on the corner of Union and Dock Streets, early succumbed and was a mass of crumbling ruins. It was near this edifice that a woman rescued her child from instant death, and pulled her
away just in time to escape being buried in a mass of stone, which came tumbling down in a thousand pieces. The Rankine bakery, another building known far and wide, suffered demolition, and was soon a heap of ruins. Some young men, three in number, entered a store on Mill Street, to avoid the dust and smoke. In a little while they saw with agony the flames burst in upon them from the rear door, ten or twelve feet from the entrance. They called for help, and attempted to gain an exit from the place which was now filled with heavy black smoke. Three times they sought the door, and every minute they began to realize the imminence of their danger. The flames and smoke drove them back, and now the water from the hose came tearing into their faces, knocking their breath away, and saturating them with the wet. Two jumped with the frenzy of madmen and the wildness of despair, and landed into the street safe, but paralysed with fear. The other man groped his way on his hands and knees along the floor and felt for the door. He succeeded after enduring much suffering, in crawling into the street. All that these three saved was on their backs. In the midst of the commotion in Dock Street, merchants were busily engaged in securing their books and private papers, and hurrying out with them. Some trusted to their safes and locked their doors. The sweep in this street was a clear one. The old "Hammond House" went shortly after the McSweeney building, and the Figaro Opera House followed shortly after. This building was built a few years ago, as an exhibition hall, by Otis Small,
Esq., and leased to Major George Bishop, as a concert room. He occupied it awhile, and Pete Lee succeeded him in the lesseeship and management of the concern. Some excellent performances of the variety kind have been given in this building. The hall was comfortably seated and tastefully arranged. Latterly it was converted, by Prof. Neilson, into a ball-room and dancing academy, when it received its new name, "Figaro Opera House."