The Sun.
London, England, 1861-06-24 00:00:00

evening was bright and clear, the whole of the public
buildings in the city and along the waterside were
tinged by the lurid glare of the conflagration, while
the Pool and eastern part of the metropolis were
darkened by the huge cloud of smoke which rose
from the burning mass. By this period the news
of the magnitude of the fire had spread all over the
metropolis, and the number of people flocking to it
was so great as to render London-bridge and the
Borough quite impassable. The balustrades and
outside coping of London-bridge were fringed with
thousands of spectators, and we heard of one in-
stance where a person in his struggle to obtain a
place had fallen over into the river and was
drowned.
At about 10 o'clock the fire seemed at its worst.
Probably between 8 and 9 there was a greater body
of flame than at any subsequent period, but the
broad light of a summer's evening drowned its
hideous glare. It was not till night fell that the
tremendous terrors of the spectacle could be
appreciated in all their horrid grandeur. Never
since the Fire of 1666 had such a scene been
witnessed. The whole south bank of the river
from London-bridge to below the Custom-
house seemed one stupendous pile of fire,
glowing at its core with an intensity that made
it painful to look at, and casting a ruddy
glare above on everything far and near. At this
time the only hope of the firemen lay in the night
still continuing calm. Their efforts to check the
flames they felt and knew were utterly hopeless. All
the engines of London and all that could be brought
by rail or road from the suburbs were as useless as
children's squirts against these acres of burning
ruins. The efforts of the most powerful engines could
only sprinkle at rare intervals the outskirts of the.
buildings, for the heat was so great that none could
approach near and live. All the worst masses of
flame were thus quite out of reach, though, so great
was the bulk of the glowing ruins, that, even had
they been under command, no water-power the fire-
men could procure could have made the slightest
impression. The only chance, therefore, of a cessation
of the calamity rested entirely on the night remaining
still, and allowing the ruins to burn out of themselves.
By the mercy of Providence, happily, no wind arose.
Had it been otherwise, the blasts of heated air coming
through such a mass of fire would have lit every
thing within half a mile of it. Engines and firemen
would have been alike driven away, and the whole
neighbourhood would have been abandoned to the
flames till a sufficient number of houses on its dread-
ful line of march could have been either pulled down
or blown up. At one time such an extension of the
catastrophe seemed awfully probable. There was
scarcely a breath of wind, but what little there was
came from the river, gently turning the blinding
mass of smoke and flame across Tooley-street to the
London-bridge Railway Station. On it seemed to
come, nearer and nearer, with a crackling roar that
was terrible, with its millions of burning flakes
filling the air as if the very atmosphere was on fire,
and the great ranks of red flame flapping about
their keen thin points with a dull noise, and leap-
ing up high over the houses with bounds and spurts
like fountains of fire. The heat in the station be-
came very great, and the ground-glass windows at
the side could scarcely be touched. Immediately
between the station and the fire was a large timber
yard, with some houses almost jutting into it. It
these caught, the timber yard and station were cer-
tain to follow, and the flames, thus spreading in two
directions, might travel over all Southwark. Upon
these houses, therefore, the firemen concentrated all
their efforts, and from the tops of eminences and
piles of timber poured streams of water on the walls
and roofs. Gradually, however, in spite of all
checks, the walls began to steam, as if the houses
were boiling, and little ominous curls of smoke
wound through the slate roofs. Then more smoke,
and the water hissed and sputtered on the roofs,
and a dull increasing glow shone from all the win-
dows, as if there were lights inside each room, and
the panes were filled in with red glass. More hoses
were turned on the roofs and walls, but all in vain.
The smoke came thicker from the roofs, the light
shone brighter from the rows of windows, and as
the wind moved in gentle puffs a flicker as of little
gas jets came darting up between the slates, and
ran quivering along like an illumination strug-
gling with a high wind. At last the slates, began
to crack and crumble down, and the mass of flames
poured out with a dull whirring noise, mount-
ing high into the air. A few minutes of fierce tre-
mendous blazing,during which the remaining slates
crumbled and dropped noiselessly down, and all
chance of saving the buildings was abandoned.
For a time the roofs hold up, but at last, as if melt-
ing they bend slowly, and disappear in an awful
explosion of sparks. At about this time (11 o'clock)
the station seems doomed. None can see how the
fire is raging, so dense is the mass of smoke and
sparks that sweep towards the railway. The engines
are withdrawn from their useless contest with binn-
ing houses near the timber-yard, and begin to play
upon the stacks of timber themselves. The clouds
of steam that rise from these piles as the water
falls show that the precaution is not taken an in-
stant too soon, even if it then avails. Just at this
most critical period the slight wind gradually
changes, and blows from the station out towards
the fire, rolling back the mingled elouds of smoke
and sparks and flame again in the direction of the
river. The ruins amid which the fire rages became
then distinctly visible from the entrance to the
Woolwich station, overlooking Tooley-street, and
the sight disclosed is one which it is impossible
either to describe or forget. Spreading far and
wide amid gaunt ruins of walls, cracked and riven
out of shape, lies a perfect sea of fire almost as white
as snow, from which the red flames spring in mas-
sive leaps, and scatter like explosions myriads of
charred embers high into the air. Now a puff of
wind will act on the ruins far and wide, like a blast
through a furnace, and they spring into a whiteness
to which the glare of sunlight is mere darkness.
While these gleams last the spectacle is tremendous.
On every side are only great vistas of rugged walls
and gleaming streets, the very pavements of which
give off a vivid glare that is blinding to look at. The
walls still standing, but white with heat and cracked
in all directions, seem like pillars of fire, against
which, as the breeze drops, the flames rise again, and,
licking up their sides, seem to flap against them and
bring the glowing bricks down in long streams.
On every side a great mass of flames is struggling.
Nothing can be seen but a town of falling ruins,
with great rafters swaying about in fiery tangles
the roar
drown roofwfinames and shouts of excited thousands,
which
even the incessant dull thumpings of
the engines that are working in all directions.
It seemed as if nothing could stop the fire. There
were great warehouses which were called fireproof,
with massive brick walls, iron roofs, and stone floors.
But against such intensity of heat
nothing availed.
To the eye they seemed to get redhot, like shells of
furnaces, until their contents poured out through.
lf viewame o f the
doors and windows in
tghreeatmsotsrteaamwsfuo
going on was to be seen from de
sPt
re
ur Ph
taiposn,
London-
bridge. Half the inhabitants of the metropolis were
'thronging towards this centre on Saturday night,
for from the bridge was to be seen such a spectacle
as we trust will never be beheld again. Then
north
side of the Thames, with all its massive buildings,
seemed red hot in the dreadful light while
ruinshi on
werethe
south the glare and heat from the blazing
almost blinding. Foul and thick as are the waters
of the Thames at low tide its dingy waves were
nevertheless penetrated by the intense light, and
the river seemed almost turned to blood, but so
bright and lurid in its deep glow that it actually
appeared like a stream of tire. There seemed flame
everywhere, in the air, in the water, even, as we
have said, on the side of the river, where the
Custom-house and great public buildings looked
red hot, and their rows of windows, reflecting
back the sheets of flame, gave them just the appear-
ance of being themselves on fire inside. Never pro-
bably, even when the Great Eastern left the
Thames, has the river been so thronged with small
boats. From far below the Custom-house to above
London-bridge the stream was actually covered
with them. All the roofs of the houses, the pub-
lie buildings, the masts and spars of vessels,
the quays and wharves, the tops of church steeples
—even the gallery of the Monument—were crowded
with thousands upon thousands of spectators.