_A CITY ON FIRE._
Approach to Irkutsk.--The city entered.--Remains of a fire.--A
second fire.--Our flight.--Crossing of the Angara.--A
refuge.--Inhabitants fleeing.--Salvage.--Firemen’s
efforts.--Spread of the catastrophe.--Return to lodging.--A
chapel saved.--Spectacle of fire at night.--Reflections.
What a vivid recollection I have of the lovely morning of that 7th of
July! The sun was bright and warm, but the air was not yet hot. The
road lay near the cold and swiftly-flowing Angara, and the plains over
which we passed were stocked with cattle. Before us lay Irkutsk. This
city, or perhaps Kiakhta, I had thought originally to make the eastward
limit of our travels. Many friends had prophesied that we should never
get there. Some said that I was undertaking more than I could carry
out, and others that I should not be permitted by the Russians to go so
far. A subtle feeling of satisfaction, therefore, stole over us as we
posted along, and saw how soon these prophecies were to be falsified.
The town, built on a tongue of land, formed by the confluence of two
rivers, with its dozen churches, domes, and spires pointing to heaven,
looked extremely pretty; and on the hills around, handsome villas,
nestling among the trees, added not a little to the picturesqueness of
the scene. The prospect before us, therefore, the retrospect of what
we had done, the pleasant morning, and the repose to which we were
looking forward, all combined to raise our spirits, and cause us to
hasten onward. Alas! we little knew how speedily the face of things
would change.
At the ferry was collected a large number of common vehicles, before
which, however, our post-horses took precedence. We speedily crossed,
and drove through a triumphal arch, erected at the time of the
annexation of the Amur, and situated at the entrance of the town. We
did not proceed far before we saw where fire had destroyed two blocks
of buildings, the embers of which were still smoking. But it was only
similar to what we had seen at Perm and Tagil, so that we were not
greatly surprised. Worse was to come. We drove to Decocq’s hotel,
and took apartments, paid and dismissed the yemstchiks, moved our
belongings from the larger of the tarantasses, and arranged them in
our rooms--or, rather, we were doing so, when the alarm was given that
another fire had broken out. I clambered to the roof of the stables,
and there, plainly enough, were flames mounting upwards, not a dozen
houses off, and in the same street, though on the other side of the way.
The waiter said he thought the fire would not come towards the hotel,
as the wind blew from the opposite direction; but I was disinclined to
wait and see, and so we bundled our things back into the tarantass, and
told the yemstchiks, who fortunately had not left the yard, to put to
their horses, and in a few minutes we were out in the street, witnesses
of a sight that is not easy to describe. Men were running from all
directions, not with the idle curiosity of a London crowd at a fire,
but with the blanched faces and fear-stricken countenances of those who
knew that the devastation might reach to them. They looked terribly in
earnest; women screamed and children cried, and it was hard for me in
the street to get an answer to any ordinary question.
Meanwhile the yemstchiks asked, Where should they go? I tried to
discover where some of the persons to whom I had introductions lived,
but people were too excited to tell me; and at last my companion
suggested that we should go out of the town across the river. We soon
put nearly a mile between us and the flames, and reached the bank of
the Angara, where was a swinging ferry. The ferry was all but loaded,
and would not take more than one of our two tarantasses. I therefore
went with the first, leaving the interpreter to follow. On landing,
the yemstchik drove along a bridge, at the end of which he motioned to
me as to whether he should turn to the left or the right. To me it was
just the same, but I pointed to the left; and that turning proved to be
of not a little importance. I could say nothing to the yemstchik, and
had therefore to wait till the ferry returned, and then crossed again,
which occupied the greater part of an hour.
Meanwhile the increased smoke in the distance showed that the fire was
spreading, and the inhabitants of the small suburb called Glasgova, to
which I had come, were looking on in front of their houses. Among the
people I noticed a well-dressed person, whom I addressed, asking if
she spoke English or French. She at once inquired who I was and what
I wanted. I replied that I was an English clergyman travelling, that
I had just arrived in Irkutsk, had run away from the fire, and was
seeking a lodging. She answered that there were no lodgings to be had
in any of the few houses on that side of the river; “but,” said she,
“pray come into my little house, where you are welcome to remain at
least during the day.” I was only too glad to do so; and, seeing that
there was a small yard adjoining, I asked permission to put therein our
two vehicles, in which we might sleep until some better place could be
found. And thus we were a second time landed at Irkutsk, poorly enough,
perhaps the reader may think, but in a far better condition, as will
presently be seen, than before nightfall were many thousands of the
inhabitants.
We soon found that our hostess was of good family, and an exile, though
not a political, but a criminal one. On arriving at Irkutsk, the
Governor-General had shown her kindness in allowing her to remain in
the city, where she partly supported herself by giving lessons, and was
living for the summer in this quasi country-house with a young man whom
she called her brother, her little girl she had brought from Russia,
and a small servant whom she spoke of as “ma petite femme de chambre.”
There was one tolerably spacious dwelling-room in the house, and in
this were sundry tokens of refinement brought from a better home. On
the wall hung a photograph of herself, as a bride leaning on the arm of
her husband in officer’s uniform, whilst several other photographs and
ornaments spoke also of a better past.
The occasion, however, was not suited to long conversation, for the
conflagration in the town was increasing. Whilst dining, we bethought
ourselves whether we could be of some service, and the outcome of
our deliberations was that I offered to accompany Madame to her
friends residing in the town, to see if we could be of use, whilst my
interpreter stayed with the tarantasses and the little girl to guard
the premises.
Madame and I, therefore, set out, accompanied by her maid. At the ferry
we met a crowd of persons fleeing from the city, and carrying with
them what was most valuable or most dear--an old woman tottering under
a heavy load of valuable furs piled on her head; a poor half-blind
nun, hugging an ikon, evidently the most precious of her possessions;
a delicate young lady in tears, with her kitten in her arms; and boys
tugging along that first requisite of a Russian home, the brazen
_samovar_. Terror was written on all countenances. We pushed on to the
principal street, and tried to hire a droshky, but it was in vain to
call--they were engaged in removing valuables from burning houses, as
were the best vehicles and carriages the town possessed. Even costly
sleighs, laden with such things as could be saved from the flames, were
dragged over the stones and grit in the streets.
Before long we came to the wide street in which were situated the best
shops and warehouses, and where the fire was raging on either side
and spreading. Those who were wise were bringing out their furniture,
their account-books, and their treasures as fast as possible, and
depositing them in the road and on vehicles, to be carried away. A
curious medley these articles presented. Here were costly pier-glasses,
glass chandeliers, and pictures such as one would hardly have expected
to see in Siberia at all; whilst a little further on, perchance, were
goods from a grocer’s or provision merchant’s shop, and all sorts of
delicacies--such as sweets and tins of preserved fruit, to which they
who would helped themselves; and working-men were seen tearing open the
tins to taste, for the first time in their lives, slices of West India
pine-apples or luscious peaches and apricots. Other prominent articles
of salvage were huge family bottles of rye-brandy, some of which people
hugged in their arms, as if for their life, whilst other bottles were
standing about, or being drunk by those who carried them. The effects
of this last proceeding soon became apparent in the grotesque and
foolish antics of men in the incipient stage of drunkenness.
It was curious to watch the conduct of some of the tradesmen, who
seemed to hope against hope, and kept their shops locked, as if to
shut out thieves, and in the hope that the fire would not reach their
premises. I noticed one man, a grocer, whose doors were barred till
the flames had come within two houses of his own; and then, throwing
open the entrance, he called in the crowd to carry out his wares. They
entered, and brought out loaves of sugar and similar goods, until one
man carried out a glass-case full of _bon-bons_, at which there was a
general onset in the street, every one filling his pockets amid roars
of laughter. With this laughter, however, was mingled the crying of
women, who wrung their hands as they emptied their houses, and saw the
destroying flames only too surely approaching their homes.
In the street were all sorts of people--soldiers, officers, Cossacks,
civilians, tradesmen, gentlemen, women and children, rich and poor,
young and old--but not gathered in dense crowds; some were making
themselves useful to their neighbours, and a few were looking idly
on. At every door was placed a jug of clean water for those to drink
who were thirsty, and it would have been well if nothing stronger
had been taken. The fire brigade arrangements seemed to me in great
confusion. There were some English engines in the town,--one of them,
of a brilliant red, bore the well-known name of “Merryweather and
Sons,”--but the Siberians had not practised their engines in the time
of prosperity, and the consequence was that the pipes had become
dry and useless, and would not serve them in the day of adversity.
The arrangements, too, for bringing water were of the clumsiest
description. A river was flowing on either side of the city, but the
firemen had no means of conducting the water by hose, but carried it in
large barrels on wheels.
Now and then one saw a hand-machine in use, about the size of a garden
engine, or a jet such as London tradesmen use to clean their pavements
and their windows. Moreover, no one took command. I noticed in one
case, as the flames approached the corner of a street, it evidently
occurred to some that, if the house at the opposite corner could be
pulled down, the fire might stop there for want of anything further to
burn. They therefore got to the top of the house, and, with crowbars,
unloosed the beams and threw them below; but, before they had gone
on long, they changed their minds, and seemed oblivious of the fact
that the fire would burn the beams equally well on the ground as when
standing in a pile.
It must be confessed, however, that the fire had everything in its
favour. Nearly all the houses were of wood--so completely so, that,
after the calamity, there was often nothing to mark the spot where
a house had stood save the brickwork of the stove in the centre.
There was a fresh breeze blowing too, and though the houses were in
many cases detached, yet it frequently happened that the intervening
spaces were stacked with piles of firewood, which helped to spread the
conflagration.
A wooden house burning is of course a spectacle much grander than that
of flames coming through the windows of a brick structure, and the
heat much more intense. At Irkutsk it was sufficient to set fire to a
building on the opposite side of the street, without the contact of
sparks. In one case--that of a handsome shop--I noticed that the first
things that caught were the outside sunblinds, which were so scorched
that they at last ignited, and then set fire to the window-frames, and
so to the whole building.
It soon became apparent that Madame could not reach her friends, who
lived on the other side of the city, and therefore we made our way
back towards the ferry, calling here and there and offering help. One
friend asked us to take away her little daughter, which we did, and
her husband’s revolver, which I carried, and a bottle of brandy--put
into the arms of the _femme-de-chambre_. Thus laden, we walked towards
the river, whilst on all hands men and women were pressing into their
service every available worker for the removal of their goods. A
religious procession likewise was formed by priests and people with
banners, headed by an ikon, in the hope that the fire would be stayed.
Had such taken place, the ikon would no doubt have acquired the
reputation of having the power, in common with many others, of working
miracles. As it was, there was a small chapel or oratory in the centre
of the town that escaped the flames, though the houses on either side
were burned. I heard this spoken of as something very wonderful, if not
miraculous, and I am under the impression that it was so telegraphed
to Petersburg; but, on looking at the place after the fire, the
preservation of the little sanctuary seemed easily accounted for, by
the fact not only that it was itself built of brick, and left no part
exposed that could well take fire, but that the houses on either side
happened also to be of brick, so that they did not, in burning, give
off the same heat they would have done had they been of wood. One
rejoiced, of course, that the building was saved; but I could not help
suspecting that, half a century hence, the chapel will be pointed out
as having been preserved by a miracle from the great fire of 1879.
It was evening before we reached our temporary lodging, and as the day
closed the workers grew tired. Many were drunk, and others gave up
in despair. The impression seemed to gain ground that nothing could
be done, but that the devouring element must be left to burn itself
out. Hope therefore fled, and the flames continued to spread till the
darkness showed a line of fire and smoke that was estimated at not
less than a mile and a half in length. It seemed as if nothing would
escape. Now one large building caught, and then another, the churches
not excepted. To add to the vividness of the scene, an alarm of church
bells would suddenly clang out, to intimate that help was needed in
the vicinity. Perhaps shortly afterwards the flames would be seen
playing up the steeple, and fancifully peeping out of the apertures and
windows; then reaching the top, and presenting the strange spectacle
of a tower on fire, with the flames visible only at the top, middle,
and bottom. At last the whole would fall with a crash, and the sky be
lit up with sparks and a lurid glare such as cannot be forgotten.
Meanwhile the inhabitants continued to flee by thousands--the swinging
ferry near us crossed and recrossed incessantly, bringing each time its
sorrowful load, either bearing away their valuables, or going back to
fetch others. Many of the people brought such of their goods as they
could save to the banks and islands of the two rivers, and there took
up their abode for the night in a condition compared with which ours
was comfortable.
Towards midnight the town presented a marvellous spectacle. I have
already spoken of the enormous length of the line of fire when looked
at laterally; but, as the darkness deepened, I walked down to a point
on the bank from which could be seen the apex of the triangle, in the
form of which the town was built, and where appeared a mass of flames
estimated as covering an area of not less than half a square mile.
We were supposed to _sleep_ that night in the tarantass, but I rose
continually to watch the progress of the fire, which towards morning
abated, but only because it had burnt all that came in its way. About
eleven o’clock the last houses standing on the opposite bank caught
fire, and thus, in about four-and-twenty hours, three-fourths of the
town were consumed.[1]
[Illustration: THE BURNING OF IRKUTSK.
(_As seen from the Glasgova Suburbs, 7th July, 1879._)]
As for myself, I had watched the fire with mingled feelings, for we
had narrowly escaped. And then came the recollection of the previous
delays which had contributed to our preservation--the delay in going
to the Alexandreffsky prison, the runaway horse in the wood, and our
subsequent impatient waiting on the road. All these played an important
part in saving us, for, had we arrived ten minutes earlier, our
affairs might have gone very differently. Had we reached the town on
the previous day, we should, in all probability, have been at church
when the fire broke out; and then it is very doubtful whether we could
have saved our effects, such was the difficulty of getting assistance.
Moreover, the hotel was burnt within a very short time of our leaving
it, so that, when looking back upon the chain of mercies by which we
had been saved, I could not feel otherwise than deeply thankful.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The numbers of the buildings destroyed were, of stone more than
100, and of wood about 3,500, including 6 churches, 2 synagogues, and
2 Lutheran and Roman chapels, besides 5 bazaars, the custom-house,
and the meat market. The destruction of property was estimated at
£3,000,000 sterling; and since the town contained about 33,800
inhabitants, upwards of 20,000 of them probably must have been rendered
houseless and homeless. From calculations made three months afterwards,
it appeared that 8,000 of the inhabitants were in good circumstances;
2,000 were in the military, and 1,000 in Government employ; 6,000 were
in reduced circumstances, to whom bread and corn were sold at a very
low price. There were 2,500 government _employés_ similarly straitened
by the catastrophe, leaving about 14,000 to earn their bread as best
they could.