narrow, running parallel to the shore; the
houses, three or four stories high, joined one
another through nearly the whole length. The
churchyard on the west, the market-place near
the bridge, and the gas-works on the east,
were the only breaks in the line.

From the above it will be readily inferred
that the builders of this city had carefully prepared
the materials for a splendid conflagration,
and that nature had provided the means
of viewing the magnificent spectacle to perfection.

A small fire had occurred on the Wednesday
evening, which consumed a timber-yard in the
north-eastern quarter of the city and extended
no further. Myself and two companions saw
this fire as we ascended the fjord in the steamer.
On Thursday evening, at six o'clock, having
been engaged all day south of the fjord, we
were startled from our occupation by the discharge
of four guns in rapid succession.
This, we learned, was the authorised signal
of the breaking out of a fire, and that
on hearing it every able-bodied citizen must
attend and assist. We crossed the bridge
with a crowd of such assistants. Smoke was
rising in the extreme west. Not being ourselves
alarmed nor much interested, we proceeded
to our hotel in the market-place, and
ordered dinner. We had not been there five
minutes before we found the hotel people, in
great excitement, packing and removing their
goods; every one exclaiming, "The church is
on fire!" The church was a full quarter of a
mile westward of the market-place, and an equal
distance eastward of the burning houses, a
spark from which had ignited the tower.

We went out on a tour of inspection. A fresh
breeze was blowing from the west, straight down
the street. The fire had commenced about a
hundred yards from the western extremity of the
city. On our arrival, about a dozen houses on the
north side of the main street were burning. The
sparks came down with the wind, but the distance
from the church was so great, it seemed
incredible that they should have set it on
fire. Yet it was so; and the burning of the
church was the destruction of the town. The
tower was of stone; the roof of the tower of
pantiles and timber. This roof was burning
and blazing fiercely when we reached the spot.
We waited until the roof fell in. That was at
a quarter to seven, by the church clock immediately
below the roof. Subsequently, we found
the face of the clock melted away, but, the hands
remaining, pointed to half-past seven. The
clock continued to go three-quarters of an
hour after the falling in of the roof. We went
back to the burning houses and marvelled to
see how capricious the fire was. It scorned to
go straight on from house to house. It had
missed four and seized on the fifth, missed three
more and seized on the ninth. This phenomenon
we observed over and over again during the
night. Aided by the wind, the fire now came
onwards towards the churchyard with terrific
energy, making the efforts of some eight or ten
small engines squirting at the walls appear a
perfect mockery.

Retracing our steps, we found the body of
the church (all of wood and nearly new) had
burst into a blaze. Frantic efforts were made
to saturate the buildings next the church eastward;
but in vain. At seven o'clock, flames
burst from a house a little further on, between
the church and the market-place. Seeing this,
and the main street being impassable, we
ran round a back street with all speed to the
hotel, packed up our luggage, brought it out,
sent it across the river, and then looked up
the street. The fire was coming down both
sides like an avalanche, and was only a few
doors off.

At half-past seven, the whole west side of
the market-place was in flames. Half an
hour had brought the fire hither from the
church, destroying in its progress a solid
block of handsome houses and shops a quarter
of a mile in length. The last inhabitants to
quit their homes were the pigeons. They sat
on the roof till it glowed beneath their feet,
and then flew about distractedly in the smoke
and flames.

The market-place was at the moment nearly
filled with people; but not crowded. Every
conceivable conveyance on land and water was
employed to remove goods. On the whole, the
people were quiet, and did not lose presence
of mind. Strange things of course were done.
Men, and especially women, toiled under loads
of rubbish, which one lamented should be
saved, while really valuable property was left to
burn. A little old woman on the opposite side
of the market-place was on her knees praying
most devoutly; but if her petition were for
the saving of her house, it was not granted. The
people at the telegraph-office having doubtless
despatched their last dying message, burst open
the upper windows with a crash, and threw their
furniture down into the street; but whether the
resulting fragments were ever picked up again
we did not stay to see. Great anxiety was now
felt to save the east side of the square and
the remainder of the town. The face of the
buildings on that side was of stone. On the
north side the buildings were few and scattered,
but on the south the houses still intact were
divided from the line of fire only by the width
of the street leading to the bridge. No efforts
were now of any avail; no one could do more
than wait the issue.

The fire was raging so frightfully, that it was
dangerous to remain longer. While one followed
our luggage over the river, two of us went to
the back of the town and across the fields
towards the hill. We stopped at a fence a
quarter of a mile from the burning mass, and
turned, but found looking impossible; the glow
was that of a thousand furnaces, and our eyes and
faces smarted with the heat. We went further
off, and clambered up the rocks and sat down
for five minutes; it became again too hot there.
We retreated yet higher up. The rocks were
quite warm to the touch, although now the