The Flower of the Flock, Volume 1 (of 3)Egan, Pierce
General
The Flower of the Flock, Volume 1 (of 3)
Egan, Pierce
Fiction
He leaped into the room, and threw himself on the floor, groping about
upon his hands and knees. He uttered a shrill cry, but met with no
response. He persevered as long as he could breathe, but without meeting
the bodies of either the youth or the maiden.
It was his impression that, overpowered by the smoke they had sunk
senseless upon the floor, but he could nowhere find them, and at last
mystified, and all but suffocated, he was compelled to retreat to the
window.
The fire was at the door of the room, shooting its long forks of flame
into the old wood of which it was composed, and with such intense heat,
that it was quickly one mass of flame, and sputtering sparks.
With a heavy heart, the conductor got out of the room, on to his
machine, and he was barely upon it, when a long blast of flame followed
him with the speed of lightning, and darted out of both windows,
cracking and smashing the fragile glass panes, causing them to fly
in all directions, playing fantastically over, and wreathing up the
architraves of the windows, lighting up as it did so the excited faces
of the swaying, yelling mob below.
The conductor slid down the escape, and communicated the appalling
intelligence, that in the burning rooms above were two miserable young
creatures who, by the time he was relating the occurrence, had become
shapeless, blackened, charred masses of human clay.
The scene had now grown intensely exciting; more engines had arrived,
and hundreds of persons were added to those already assembled. A body
of policemen were employed in forcing the turbulent crowd back, so as to
give the firemen room for their exertions. The street was turned into
a river, and the fire brigade--accoutred like the heavy dragoons of a
former period--were plashing through the muddy stream, getting their
engines into working order with the systematic, and, as it appeared to
the anxious gazers, the rather apathetic regularity of organised action.
Frantic occupiers of adjoining houses were flinging out their
furniture--their little all, and that uninsured. The beds and chairs,
tables and drawers, formed, as they were brought, or thrown, hastily
into the streets, a motley jumble--some of them being borne away by
active parties, never more to be returned to the original owner.
“Two persons burned to death!” was a cry which ran through the crowd,
and was again and again re-echoed by the individuals of which it was
formed, a thrill of horror accompanying it wherever it went.
An explosion, and up shot a body of flame into the air, attended by a
shower of sparks, fragments of burning wood, and flaming articles, the
volumes of smoke, of gold and rose-blush tint rolling away, painfully
contrasting with the violet-hued heavens.
The roof was gone!
A brilliant glare was thrown over all objects, far and near, making the
place around as light as day.
Lo! a sudden and tremendous cry burst from the agitated multitude,
pressing, crowding, and crushing upon the foot and roadways.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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