t threw back the fire demon at Van Ness avenue.

When the burning city seemed doomed and the flames lit the sky
further and further to the west, Admiral McCalla sent a trio of his
most trusted men from Mare Island with orders to check the
conflagration at any cost of life or property.

With them they brought a ton and a half of gun cotton. The terrific
power of the explosion was equal to the maniac determination of the
fire. Captain MacBride was in charge of the squad. Chief Gunner
Adamson placed the charges, and the third gunner set them off.

The thunderous detonations to which the terrified city listened all
that dreadful Friday night meant the salvation of 300,000 lives. A
million dollars' worth of property, noble residences and worthless
shacks alike were blown to drifting dust, but that destruction broke
the fire and sent the raging flames over their own charred path.

The whole east side of Van Ness avenue, from Golden Gate to Greenwich,
was dynamited a block deep, though most of the structures stood
untouched by sparks or cinders. Not one charge failed. Not one
building stood upon its foundations.

Every pound of gun cotton did its work, and though the ruins burned,
it was but feebly. From Golden Gate avenue north the fire crossed the
wide street in but one place. That was the Claus Spreckels place, on
the corner of California street. There the flames were writhing up the
walls before the dynamiters could reach it. The charge had to be
placed so swiftly and the fuse lit in such a hurry that the explosion
was not quite successful from the trained viewpoint of the gunners.
But though the walls still stood, it was only an empty victory for the
fire, as bare brick and smoking ruins are poor food for flames.

Captain MacBride's dynamiting squad realized that a stand was hopeless
except on Van Ness avenue. They could have forced their explosive
further in the burning section, but not a pound of gun cotton could be
or was wasted. The ruined block that met the wide thoroughfare formed
a trench through the clustered structures that the conflagration,
wild as it was, could not leap.

Engines pumping brine through Fort Madison from the bay completed the
little work that the gun cotton had left, but for three days the
haggard-eyed firemen guarded the flickering ruins.

The desolate waste straight through the heart of the city is a mute
witness to the squad's effective work. Three men did this. They were
ordered to