THE THAMES ON FIRE. THE DEATH OF BRAIDWOOD.
About half-past four o'clock in the afternoon of June 22nd, 1861, an
alarm of fire reached the Watling Street station.
The firemen turned out to the call; but little did they think, as they
hurried along, that the fire to which they were summoned would burn for
a whole month, and would become known as one of the most serious in the
history of London.
The call came from Tooley Street, on the south side of London Bridge.
Some jute in the upper part of a warehouse had been discovered
smouldering, and bucketsful of water had been thrown upon it; but the
smoke became so thick and overwhelming, that the men were compelled to
desist, and the flames grew rapidly.
By this time the alarm had been sent to Watling Street. Quickly the
fire-engines arrived on the spot, and the men found dense masses of
smoke pouring from buildings at Cotton's Wharf. A number of tall
warehouses, rising up to six stories high, and filled with inflammable
goods, stood here and near by, among the goods being oil, tallow, tar,
cotton, saltpetre, bales of silk, and chests of tea. In spite of all
efforts, the fire burned steadily on, and dense volumes of smoke poured
forth.
Mr. Braidwood had speedily arrived, and two large floating-engines, in
addition to others, were got to work. He stationed his men wisely, and
huge jets of water were speedily playing on the fire.
Great excitement soon rose in the neighbourhood. Surging crowds of
eager people thronged the streets approaching the wharf, and a dense
assemblage pressed together on London Bridge. Even the thoroughfares on
the opposite side were blocked. But the spectators could see little just
then, except thick clouds of smoke and great jets of water. On the
river, vessels struggled to escape from the proximity of the burning
building; while on land, the police forced back the people from the
surrounding streets, so as to give greater freedom to the firemen.
[Illustration: JAMES BRAIDWOOD.]
Then, about an hour after the alarm had been given, a loud explosion
startled the people; a bright tongue of flame shot upward through the
smoke, and seemed to strike downward also to the ground, while the whole
building became a sheet of fire.
The neighbouring buildings became involved; rivers of fire burst out of
windows, ran down walls, and actually flowed along the streets. It even
poured on to the waters of the Thames itself. Melted tallow and oil
flowed along as they burned, like liquid fire. No wonder the
conflagration spread rapidly. Less than two hours after the call had
been received--that is, at about six o'clock--the fire had extended to
eight large warehouses.
The heat now became overpowering. Drifting clouds of smoke obscured the
calm evening sky, and spread like a pall overhead. In spite of all
efforts, the fierce conflagration gained continually on the men; it
leaped over a space between the buildings, and attacked a block of
warehouses on the opposite side. The roaring of the flames, the thick
smoke, and the curious, disagreeable smells arising from the various
goods which were burning, became almost unbearable.
The men suffered greatly from exhaustion; and Mr. Braidwood, seeing
their distress, procured refreshments. He was dividing them among the
men as he stood near the second building which had caught fire, when
again a loud explosion rent the air, and the wall of the warehouse was
seen to be falling.
"Run for your lives!" was the cry; and the men, seized for once with
panic, rushed away. Mr. Braidwood and a gentleman with him followed; but
unhappily they were not in time, and with a loud crash the huge wall
fell upon them, and crushed them to the ground with tons of heavy
masonry.
"Let us save them!" cried the men; and a score hurried to the spot. But
again a third explosion occurred, a mass of burning material was hurled
on the fatal heap, all around fell the fire, and rescue was seen to be
hopeless.
[Illustration: THE TOOLEY STREET FIRE, 1861.]
As if in triumph, the flames swept on and mounted higher. Wharf after
wharf was involved, and warehouse after warehouse. The Depôt Wharf,
Chamberlain's Wharf, and others caught fire. Night seemed turned into
day by the blaze. Ships near the wharves, laden with the same
inflammable materials of oil, and tar, and tallow, became ignited; and
the blazing liquids poured out on the river, forming a lake of fire a
quarter-mile long by a hundred yards wide.
People crowded everywhere to see the sight. They thronged house-tops and
church-steeples. Boatmen ventured near to pick up such goods as they
might be able to find, and were threatened with dire peril. Some fainted
from the heat. A barge drifted near with three men aboard, who were so
overcome that they could not manage their cumbersome craft; a skiff
approached sufficiently near to rescue the men, after which the barge
drifted nearer still, and was burnt.
Though greatly dispirited by the loss of their captain, the firemen
fought doggedly on. But still their efforts seemed unavailing. Flakes of
fire fell in all directions, and huge volumes of flame flashed upward to
the sky. The whole of Bermondsey seemed in peril, and at one period the
fire blazed for close upon a quarter-mile along the river-bank.
Through the night more engines clattered up from distant stations, and
the firemen fought the flames at every step of their destructive career.
Tons of water were poured upon each building as it became threatened,
only, however, to yield in course of time.
The wind saved the old church of St. Olave's, and also London Bridge
Station; but the fire raged along the wharves. Sometimes great warehouse
walls fell into the river with a gigantic splash, revealing the inferno
of white-hot fire raging behind them.
At length the fire reached Hay's Wharf, which was supposed to be
fireproof, and for long it justified the name. But at last it also
yielded; the upper part began to blaze, and, in spite of the quantities
of water thrown upon the roof and walls, the fire gradually increased.
Now beyond the building lay a dock, in which were berthed two ships. The
tide had been too low to allow of their removal. If they could not be
towed out in time, the fire would probably seize them, and thus be
wafted over the dock to the other side.
Would the tide rise in time to allow the ships to be hauled out? It was
a critical moment, and the firemen must have worked their hardest to
keep the building from flaming too quickly.
Gradually the tide flowed higher and higher. No matter what happens in
the mighty city, twice in the day and night does the Thames silently ebb
and flow; and now the quiet flowing of the tide helped to save the great
city on its bank. Just in time two tugs were able to enter the dock. The
towing-ropes were thrown aboard; but even as the vessels were passing
out, the flames, as if determined not to lose their prey, darted from
the building, and set the rigging of one ship aflame.
But the firemen were as quick as their enemy. An engine threw a torrent
of water on the burning ship, and promptly quenched the flames. And so,
amid the plaudits of the huge crowds on both sides of the river, the two
ships were slowly towed to a place of safety, and the fierce fire was
left face to face with the empty dock.
The quiet dock was successful. The wide space filling up with water from
the flowing tide stopped the progress of the fire. This stoppage must
have occurred about five o'clock on the following morning; but within
the area already covered by the conflagration, fire continued to burn
for a month.
Even after the first seven days, a fresh explosion and flash of flame
showed the danger of the conflagration, now fortunately confined within
limits. In fact, July 22nd had dawned before it was entirely
extinguished, the total loss being estimated at about two millions
sterling.
Nearly all the goods destroyed were of the most inflammable description.
There were nine thousand casks of tallow and three hundred tuns of
olive oil, beside thousands of bales of cotton, two thousand parcels of
bacon, and other valuable merchandise. The tallow, no doubt, burned the
fiercest and the most persistently. Melting with the intense heat, it
poured out into cellars and streets, where much of it speedily caught
fire. The floors of nine vaults, each measuring 100 by 20 feet, were
covered two feet deep with melted tallow and palm oil, and all helped to
feed the fire. No wonder it burned for days, if such material fed the
flames, although the firemen continued to pour water on the ruins. Some
of the tallow, found floating on the river, was collected, and sold at
twopence per pound.
Mr. Braidwood's body was found on June 24th, so charred as to be
scarcely recognizable. He was buried at Abney Park Cemetery, and was
accorded the honour of a great public funeral. The London Rifle-Brigade
attended, as well as large bodies of firemen and of the police, and an
immense concourse of the general public. So large a multitude, it was
said, had not attended any funeral since the obsequies of the Duke of
Wellington.
A proposition was made to raise a public fund for the benefit of Mr.
Braidwood's widow and six children, and a large sum was subscribed; but
it was announced that the Insurance Companies had amply provided for his
family.
The neighbourhood of Southwark, where the fatal fire occurred, has been
the scene of many remarkable conflagrations. In the same year as the
famous Tooley Street fire, Davis's Wharf at Horselydown was burnt,
involving a loss of about £15,000; while at a large fire at Dockhead two
or three years later, vast quantities of saltpetre, corn, jute, and
flour were consumed. A brisk wind favoured the flames, and hundreds of
tons of saltpetre flashed up into fire. Bright sparks and flame-coloured
smoke floated over the conflagration, and were wafted by the wind,
accompanied by deafening reports and great flashes of fire.
Numbers of other conflagrations have occurred in this neighbourhood. The
streets were narrow, and the district was full of warehouses, containing
all kinds of merchandise, which burnt like tinder when fairly ignited.
Imagine coffee and cloves, sulphur and saltpetre, oil, turpentine, and
tallow all afire! What a commingling of odours and of strange-coloured
flame!
The bacon frizzles; the corn parches and chars; the flour mixes with the
water, then dries and smoulders in the great heat, and smells like
burning bread; the preserved tongues diffuse an offensive odour of
burning flesh; while the commingling of cinnamon and salt, mustard and
macaroni, jams and figs and liquorice, unite to make a hideous
combination of coloured flames, sickening smells, and thick and lurid
smoke. The huge warehouses built in this district since the closing
years of the eighteenth century are filled with all kinds of goods from
various parts of the world; but of all the disastrous fires which have
ravaged the district, the great Tooley Street fire of 1861 has been the
worst.
Moreover, it will always be memorable for the death of Braidwood. Even
now you may hear men in the London Fire-Brigade speak of Braidwood or
Braidwood's time, and his memory has become a noble tradition in the
service. So great an authority had he become on the subject of fire
extinction, and so highly was he held in public esteem, that his
terrible death in the performance of his duty was regarded as a national
calamity.
But the conflagration also revealed with startling clearness the
inadequacy of the Companies' Fire Establishment. More appliances and
more men were wanted. The companies were asked, "Will you increase your
organization?" And their answer, put briefly, was, "No."
Thereupon, in 1862, a Parliamentary Commission was instituted to enquire
into the matter, and in due time the commission reported. It recommended
that a brigade should be established; the companies consulted with the
Home Secretary and the Metropolitan Board of Works; and in 1865 an Act
was passed placing the brigade under the Metropolitan Board, the change
to take place as, and from January 1st, 1866.
This was practically the establishment of a Municipal Fire-Brigade,
though it was also provided that every company insuring property for
loss by fire in London should contribute to the cost of the brigade at
the rate of £35 for every million pounds of the gross amounts insured,
except by way of reassurance; the Government were also to pay £10,000 a
year for the protection of public buildings; while the Metropolitan
Board itself was empowered to levy a rate not exceeding a halfpenny in
the pound in support of the organization.
In 1863, the Fire-Engine Establishment had increased to a hundred and
thirty men with twenty stations; but the Metropolitan Board were given
power to construct further engines and stations, to act in conjunction
with a salvage corps, to obtain the services of the men, and to divide
the metropolis into suitable districts. Such powers would enable the
Board greatly to strengthen the brigade.
The Act also provided that the firemen should be placed under command of
an officer, to be called the Chief Officer of the Metropolitan
Fire-Brigade; and a gentleman was appointed who had had experience of
similar duties at Belfast, and who was for long to be popularly known in
London as Captain Shaw.
And on the very day when the new arrangements came in force a great fire
occurred, as if to roughly remind the organization of its
responsibilities and test its powers.