FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume XI, Issue 1302, 29 March 1883, Page 2

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

[ By Oi u. Somnolent Reporter). ‘ Win (.st seated on a doorstep 1 slumbered, as ■ is my wont. ’Twas midnight I And the 1 moon at her full splendour gave me a clear ; and distinct view of the town. Everything I i was quiet, even the rude canine who it is 1 ; said bays at sweet Luna was silent. Suddenly, and almost as if by magic, I saw ; • a figure approaching dressed in a kerosene ; tin, and ornamented with innumerable boxes j ’of Hell and Black’s best matches, With I ; velvet steps and Tarquin strides he speedily l neared a block of wooden buildings, and di- ; vesting himself of his habiliments, carefully } i gathered together a lot of shavings, chips, ' and other odds and ends, which once set fire i to meant as much mischief to our town as ' “ Mischief ” did to (he other horses enffaged : in the Napier Handicap. I locked on in ' ; terror, but could not move, nor could I raise my voipc to give un alarm. Everything was • as silent as when the world was in chaos, , A match was struck, the kerosene ignited, ' . and house after house fell a victim to the fire ‘ I demon. Chained by fear to the step on which ) i I eat I was helpless, and the dread fiend pur- > sued its cruel and relentless devastations un- 1 . heeded ami unchecked. Suddenly a cry ‘ arose upon mine cur : it was th it of a mother shrieking for help to save her children, and ' i then I heard the low deep curse of a dying . : father upon the heads of those who hadiailed to secure the services of a trustworthy nightwatchman, 1 thought that had such an 1 officer been appointed, how different the ■ scene would have been. Instead of the ‘ piercing shrieks of loving mothers, the hol- . low curses of dying men, there would have ■ been the clamour of the fire-bell, the cries , and shouts of hundteds of willing men—men willing to risk death in order to save life.' 1 pondered as I slept,but was not awakened . until a heavy hand struck my shoulder, about ! i (j o’clock in the morning, and a man with a ; smoke-begrimed visage, hoarsely uttered ■ these words : “The town is destroyed, you, ' I, and the doorstep you’re, sitting on, are all J who are left to tell the tale.”