was called
for a long time. There had been one about ten years before that had
devastated a large part of the city. And in February of this year there
had been quite a tragic one in the Tribune Building. There was a fierce
drifting snowstorm, so deep it was impossible to drag the engines
through it, and some of the hydrants were frozen. Men had jumped from
the windows to save their lives, and there had been quite a panic.

Early in the gray dawn of July nineteenth, a watchman discovered flames
issuing from an oil store on New Street. A carpenter shop next door was
soon in flames. A large building in which quantities of saltpetre was
stored caught next. A dense smoke filled the air, and a sudden explosive
sound shot out a long tongue of flame that crossed the street. At
intervals of a few moments others followed, causing everybody to fly for
their lives. And at last one grand deafening burst like a tremendous
clap of thunder, and the whole vicinity was in a blaze. Bricks and
pieces of timber flew through the air, injuring many people. Then the
fire spread far and wide, one vast, roaring, crackling sheet of flame.
One brave fireman and several other people were killed, and Engine 22
was wrecked in the explosion.

It was said at first that powder had been stored in the building, but it
was proved on investigation that the saltpetre alone was the dangerous
agent. Three hundred and forty-five buildings were destroyed, at a loss,
it was estimated, of ten millions of dollars. For days there was an
immense throng about the place. The ruins extended from Bowling Green to
Exchange Place.

A relic of Revolutionary times perished in this fire. The bell of the
famous Provost prison, that had been used by the British during their
occupancy of the city, had been removed when the building was remodelled
and placed on the Bridewell at the west of the City Hall, and used for a
fire-alarm bell. When the Bridewell had been destroyed it was
transferred to the cupola of the Naiad Hose Company in Beaver Street. It
rang out its last alarm that morning, for engine house and bell perished
in the flames.

Stephen had been very fortunate in that he was out of the fire district.
He took Margaret and Hanny down to view the great space heaped with
blackened debris, and when a fire alarm was given the little girl used
to shiver with fright for months afterward.

And now schools were considering their closing exercises, and parents of
big boys we