This is a sad business, there is no doubt, and the excitement which
prevailed may probably excuse the eccentricities that occurred, and to
which we beg leave to call the public attention.
In the first place, by way of ensuring the safety of the property,
precautions were taken to shut out every one from the building; and as
military rule knows of no exception, the orders given were executed to the
letter by preventing the ingress of the firemen with their engines until
the general order of exclusion was followed by a countermand. This of
course took time, leaving the fire to devour at its leisure the enormous
meal that fate had prepared for it.
After the admission of the firemen there was the usual mishap of no water
where it could be got at, but an abundant supply where there was no
possibility of reaching it. The tanks which the hose could be got into
were almost dry, while the Thames was in the most provoking way almost
overflowing its banks in the very neighbourhood of the fire; and yet, if
the pipes were laid on to the water, they were laid off too far from the
building to have the least effect upon it.
The next eccentricity consisted in the sudden idea that suggested itself
to somebody, that all energy should be devoted to saving the jewels, which
were not in the smallest danger, and even if they had been, there was
nobody knew how to get at them, the key being some miles off in the
possession of the Lord Chamberlain. It might as well have been at the
bottom of the Thames; and, of course, everybody began tugging at the iron
bars, which were at length forced, and the jewels were, at a great cost of
time and trouble, removed _to a place of safety_ from _a position of the
most perfect security!!_ However, this showed activity if nothing else,
and of course made the subject of paragraphs about "presence of mind,"
"indefatigable exertions," and "superhuman efforts" on the part of certain
persons who, for the good they were doing, might just as well have been
carrying the piece of artillery in St. James's Park into the enclosure
opposite.
While the jewels were being hurried from one part of the Tower, where they
were quite safe, to another where they were not more so, it never occurred
to any one to rescue from danger the arms, which were being quietly
consumed, while the crown and regalia were being jolted about with the
most injurious activity.
The treatment of some of the reporters was another curious point of this
melancholy business; and a gentleman from a weekly journal, on applying at
head-quarters, found his own head suddenly quartered by a blow from a
musket. This was rather unceremonious treatment on the part of the
privates of the line to a person who is also
[Illustration: ATTACHED TO THE LINE.]
--the penny-a-line we mean; but with a true _gusto_ for accidents, and a
relish for calamities, which nothing could subdue, he still pressed
forward, with blood streaming from his fractured skull, for additional
particulars. The American reporter whose hand was blown off, and had the
good fortune to be upon the spot, is not to be compared with the hero who
had the exclusive advantage of being able to supply practical information
of the ruffianly conduct pursued by the soldiery.
It is not stated whether the fire-escape was on the spot; but as no one
lived in the building that was burnt, it is highly probable that every
effort was made to save the lives of the inhabitants. There is no doubt
that the ladder was strenuously directed towards the clock tower, with the
view, probably, of saving the "jolly cock" who used to adorn the top of
it.
The reporters mark as a miracle the extraordinary fact, that during the
whole time of the fire, the weathercock continued to vary with the wind.
The gentlemen of the press, probably, expected that the awful solemnity of
the scene would have rendered any man, not entirely lost to every sense of
feeling, completely motionless. The apathy of the weathercock that went on
whirling about as if nothing had happened, is in the highest degree
disgusting, and we can scarcely regret the fate of such an unfeeling
animal.
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