lambeaux, all rushed from the
Place du Gouvernement, lighting the way of the retraite, now more
furious even than planned. The band struck up, "There'll be a Hot Time
in the Old Town To-night," the drum and bugle made warlike notes, and
down the rue de Rivoli we went madly toward the conflagration sighted
by the leader. After the band and the flambeaux-bearers danced the
jolly commoners, with here and there a more important pair of legs,
an English clerk, a tourist, or an official, all excited by the music,
the torches, and the running to the fire. The flambeaux reeled to and
fro with the skipping and leaping of their carriers, the multitude
sang loudly, and the music became broken as the leader lost control
of his men. They came to the house of the hose-cart, and transformed
themselves into firemen, laying down their instruments and harnessing
themselves to the lines. Away we went again, now at top speed. Other
carts with apparatus dashed into the Broom Road from side streets
and caught up with us.

The pullers yelled warnings in Tahitian to those who might impede
their way or be run over. The stir was tremendous, for fires were rare
and greatly feared. The regulations of the possession and storage
of combustibles were severe, even a wagon or handcart containing as
little as one can of kerosene being compelled to fly a red flag.

After a mile we came to the fire, a Chinese restaurant beside a little
creek and in a cocoanut-grove. The roof had fallen in and there were
reports that a woman and two children had been killed. Two men with
quart cans threw water from the stream on the edge of the blaze.

The little hose-carts, with a small ladder, arrived with eclat, native
gendarmes clearing the road, and Frenchmen and natives shouting the
danger of death by these formidable engines. They were of no purpose,
the water-taps which were conspicuous in the main streets being absent
here, and no water under pressure was available. They knew this, of
course, but the hose was unreeled, and a dozen people tripped up by
its snakelike movements, the while bandsmen and gendarmes roared out
manoeuvers. By now a thousand were there. I counted roughly several
hundred bicycles and two public automobiles, holding thirty persons
each, came from the center of town, the enterprising owners canvassing
the coffee-shops and saloons for passengers. These carryalls drew up
by the stream within forty feet of the blaze, forcing the pedestrians
an