They make an entrance,
and, in a moment, furniture, wearing apparel, bedding, drapery, are tossed out
of the windows; curtains, sheets, etc., are thrown in the air, frightening
the horses of the troopers, who have enough to do to keep their saddles;
the weather-boards are ripped off the side of the house, and sent spinning
in the air. A real Californian takes particular care of, and delights in
smashing the crockery.
Mr. Rede, the resident Commissioner, arrives, and endeavours to pacify
the people by speechifying, but it will not do. He mounts the sill of where
was once a window, and gesticulates to the crowd to hear him. An egg is thrown
from behind a tent opposite, and narrowly misses his face, but breaks
on the wall of the house close to him. The Commissioner becomes excited,
and orders the troopers to take the man in charge; but no trooper appears
to relish the business.
A cry of "Fire!" is raised; a horse shies and causes commotion. Smoke is seen
to issue from one of the rooms of the ground-floor. The police extinguish it;
and an attempt is made to form a cordon round the building. But it is
too late. Whilst the front of the hotel occupies the attention of the majority
of the crowd, a few are pulling down the back premises.
Mr. Rede sends for the detachment of the gallant 40th now stationed
on Ballaarat.
A shout is raised: - "The 40th are coming."
"Don't illuminate till they come."
"They shall see the sight."
"Wait till they come."
Smash go the large lamps in front of the hotel. The troopers ride round
and caracole their horses.
"Where's the red-coats?"
"There they come, yonder up the hill!"
"Hurrah! three cheers."
The 40th arrive; they form into line in front of the hotel, swords drawn.
"Hurrah! boys! no use waiting any longer." - "Down she comes." The bowling alley
is on fire. - Police try to extinguish the flames - rather too warm. - It's
too late. - The hotel is on fire at the back corner; nothing can save it. - "Hip,
hip hurrah!" is the universal shout.
I had opportunities enough to observe in London, that a characteristic
of the British race is to make fun of the calamity of fire, hence I did not
wonder, how they enjoyed this, their real sport on the occasion.
A gale of wind, which blowed at this exact time, announcing the hurricane
that soon followed, was the principal helper to the devouring of the building,
by blowing in the direction most favourable to the purpose.
The red-coats wheel about, and return to the Camp. Look out! the roof
of the back part of the hotel, falls in!
