but the engines were driven back, step by
step, while some of the brave firemen fell
victims to their determined opposition. As
the wind increased to a gale, the fire became
beyond control; the brick buildings in
Montgomery Street crumbled before it; and before
it was arrested, over one thousand houses,
many of which were filled with merchandise,
were left in ashes. Many lives were lost, and
the amount of property destroyed was
estimated at two millions and a-half sterling.

"No conception can be formed of the
grandeur of the scene, for at one time the
burning district was covered by one vast
sheet of flame that extended half a mile in
length. But when the excitement of such a
night as this has passed by, one can scarcely
recal the scene: the memory is confused in
the recollection of the shouts of the excited
populace—the crash of falling timbers— the
yells of the burnt and injured—the clank of
the fire-brakes—the hoarse orders delivered
through speaking-trumpets—maddened horses
released from burning livery stables plunging
through the streets—helpless patients being
carried from some hospital, and dying on the
spot, as the swaying crowd, forced back by
the flames, tramples all before it—explosions
of houses blown up by gunpowder—showers
of burning splinters that fall around on every
side— the thunder of brick buildings as they
fall into a heap of ruins, and the blinding
glare of ignited spirits. Amidst heat that
scorches, let you go where you will—smoke
that strikes the eyes as if they had been
pricked by needles—water that, thrown off
the heated walls, falls on you in a shower of
scalding steam—you throw your coat away,
and help to work the engine brakes, as calls
are made for more men."

The end of it was work, and the result of it
was work. The community of San Francisco
took, in those days, a fire as quietly as a boy
takes a fall upon the pavement. The town
had to be got up again, and that was all.
However great might be the destruction of
property, however complete the ruin of some
individuals whose all was lost, and who could
take no part in the effort to reconstruct their
own fortunes together with the town, all
lamentation was sent, like the sickness in an
army, to the rear. The ruined were the
luckless men—not rare in Californian society
—and nothing remained for them but to go
about their business, whatever that might be,
The business of all who had wherewith to
buy building materials was obvious enough,
and the demand for bricks and stones was
held to be more pressing than the need for
sighs and groans, therefore among the tents
of the burnt-out townspeople little was said
of the past grief, much of the present remedy.
Mr. Marryatt arrived at San Francisco,
summoned by the glare over the town, only in
time to see the dying embers of the fire
that had destroyed his journal, but over them,
while they still smoked, he found the citizens
already preparing to rebuild their homes, or,
it would be more accurate to say, places of
business, with brick and stone. Instructed
and even strengthened by disaster is the man
who would cut out for himself a new path in
the world. The Californian public knows the
uses of adversity, turns them all to account,
and thrives.

Mr. Marryatt himself also has made
some trial of them, and is not the
worse for his experience. Soon after he
had been burnt out at San Francisco,
that gentleman commenced a quartz-crushing
experiment, and found that his iron
machinery was obstinate in breaking down,
the quartz being more able effectively to
bruise the machine than the machine to
bruise the quartz. Here was the man to
bring us home a black account of California;
but he does nothing of the kind. He
enjoyed his adventures in the country, and has
sense to separate his individual mishaps, as a
speculator, from the general prosperity. If
San Francisco began its new life in the midst
of riot, dissipation, and misfortune, he can
see that the experience of some dozen
conflagrations has only taught the people there
to erect good brick houses, make their city
the substantial place it now is, and protect it
by a brave volunteer corps of firemen. Now
San Francisco stands as little chance of
being again laid in ashes as Hamburg or
London. He remembers that in the midst
of their first excesses the Americans of San
Francisco did not forget to found a public
school, and take care even in a wild
colony, for the education of all children—a care
not taken for the ragged sons and daughters
even of righteous England. He sees, too,
that the energies of vice have become
exhausted—that the town Californians, sick of
excess, are turning in many ways to
right thoughts and right deeds, with an
energy unknown in communities that have
been satisfied for generations with the
respectable way in which they have managed
their concerns. March's mill he knows to be
more truly a type of what is in that land of
activity than his own quartz-crushing
machine. The failure of his quartz-crusher he
regards only as the failure of one among the
number of experiments which must be
made by every pioneer. As for his onions
he does not for their sake curse all
the onions in the land. Thanks to the
maiden soil, vegetables attain to an
unusual size in California, though (as always
happens in such cases) they gain size at the
expense of flavour. Onions and tomatas as
large as cheese-plates are, Mr. Marryat says,
common. Melons have attained the weight
of fifty pounds. Wheat and oats grow to the
height of eight or ten feet, and are very
prolific in the ear. We recommend no one to
emigrate who cannot carry out with him
some measure, at least, of this dauntless,
candid temper.