“Thousands of people stood
in the roads and on the sidewalks near the drill shed on Saturday evening and
watched the flames rapidly devour the old building until the wooden walls and
roof fell in and there was nothing left but a heap of black, smoking ruins.”
Hamilton Spectator. May 24,
1886.
The date of the Saturday
evening was May 22, 1886. The roads and sidewalks were on James Street North.
And the drill shed was the home of Hamilton’s beloved 13th
Battalion, its soldiers and its bandsmen.
Hamilton’s drill shed were
seldom vacant on a Saturday evening, and such was the case that particular
memorable evening:
“There were four persons in
the building when it caught fire at 7:20 p.m.. Band sergeant Evans and
Bandmaster Robinson’s three sons, Walter, George and Willie were upstairs in
the band room, one of the youths being fitted with a uniform to wear at the
parade of the band today. Walter Robinson left the shed to go home, but when he
got to the top of the stairs, he saw a small volume of smoke and a little blaze
at the south side of the shed, about half way down, under the eaves. Hastening
back into the band room, he told Sergt. Evans that
THE BUILDING WAS ON FIRE.
At first, his brothers and the sergeant thought he was
joking and paid no attention to him, but quickly perceiving that he was in
earnest, they quickly perceiving, they went out to the landing, and saw a
column of flame rising from the south wall and slowly spreading along the roof.
Walter rushed to the telephone and gave the alarm to the fire department.” 1
1 “A Big Conflagration : The
13th Battalion’s Drill Shed and Armory : All the Arms,
Accoutrements, Ammunition, Etc., Destroyed – The Regimental Colors and Papers
Saved – Scenes and Incidents.”
Hamilton Spectator May 24, 1886.
During the first minutes of
panic after the fire was discovered, the Robinson boys immediately thought of
the 13th Band’s valuables, while an unfortunate incident on the
James street side of the building caused the emergency to quickly worsen:
“Walter hastened to assist Sergt. Evans and
the boys to get out the music and instruments from the band room. In the
meantime, caretaker Harris’ son had opened the large front gate, and some fool,
seeing the flame (which had by this time eaten through the south wall and roof)
ran into the yard and burst open the main door.
“The effect was
instantaneous and appalling. The draught created by the opening of the door
smote the flames, which now, instead of crawling,
LEAPED
AND FLEW
along the timbers, and in a few seconds the whole
interior under the roof was one sheet of fire.
“All this occurred in less
than a minute, and before it was possible for the firemen to arrive and get to
work (which they did in a wonderfully short space of time) the flames had
obtained such headway that nothing short of a miracle could have saved the big
wooden building.”1
The Robinson brothers
assisted by Sergeant Evans made great sacrifices to save as mush of the band’s
treasures as possible:
“Meanwhile
Sergt. Evans and his three assistants worked like heroes to save the music and
instruments out of the band room. Gathering up armfuls of books and sheets of
music – those that were within easiest reach – they ran down stairs with them
and flew back for more.
“Three trips were made. The
last time they returned they were almost smothered by the smoke. Young Willie
Robinson, coming out for the last time, was almost buffeted in the face by the
advancing sheet of flame. With a snare drum under his arm, he cleared the
staircase at a bound, and escaped into the open air with a scorched face and a
sprained thumb. The retreat of the others down the stairs was cut off, and they
were obliged to jump out of the front windows.”1
The men and equipment of the
Hamilton Fire Department made the five block trip from the Central Fire station
as quickly as possible:
“When the
fire department arrived, the experienced eye of Chief Aitchison perceived at a
glance that it was impossible to save the building. The interior was alike a
roaring furnace, and the flames had already begun to burst through the roof.
“The houses closely
adjoining are old wooden structures, and the main efforts of the firemen were
directed towards saving these and the gun sheds at the east end of the burning
building.
“It was a terrible struggle
for the firemen. The heat was so intense that the crowd was driven back, unable
to endure it, and the branch men working on the south side, were almost baked
alive and were on the point of succumbing when Chief Aitchison instructed to
lie flat on the ground behind the fence and play on the flames from that
sheltered position. The fence was on fire most of the time, and a stable in
rear of McKeever’s bakery and the unoccupied roughcast house facing Hughson
street, at the southeast corner of the drill shed caught fire over and over
again, and it was only by the most persistent efforts that they were saved from
destruction. Had they been allowed to burn, there is no telling where the
conflagration would have ended.
“Luckily, there was no wind,
and the flames shot straight up. It was a grand sight.
COLUMNS
OF CLEAR FLAME
rose a hundred feet in the air, and thousands of fiery
tongues were thrust out between the boards and timbers, whilst overhead for
many blocks around, hung a heavy cloud of black smoke, blotting out the last
rays of daylight.”
Most of
the most dangerous material stored on the grounds immediately beside the drill
shed were in a series of brick buildings, the gun sheds:
“It was well-known that
there were large quantities of gunpowder and prepared ammunition in the gun
sheds, and one of the first things chief Aitchison did was to direct some of
his men to clear out the sheds. Assisted by policemen, some members of the
Hamilton field battery and a number of citizens, they did this in double-quick
time. There were in the sheds about 500 pounds of powder and a large quantity
of shrapnel and other shell, besides the four guns with their carriages,
harness, uniforms and a large quantity of stores and small arms. Most of these
were saved ; but some harness and all the stores in the upper part of the south
wing were destroyed.”1
As usual, the Hamilton Fire
Department did effective work at the scene of the blaze:
“Eight streams played on the
burning building and the houses in the vicinity, and though the pressure was
not what it should have been and the streams were comparatively weak, their
effect very soon became apparent. The flames were cut off from the north wing
of the gun shed, which was saved almost entire. Such a fierce fire could not last
long; confined to the drill shed, it had to burn itself but very soon for lack
of fuel; and when the roof had fallen in and the danger of the fire spreading
was partly over, most of the streams were turned on the flames, which still
raged with great fury, though with diminished force. It was not long, then,
before the firemen got the upper hand, and what remained of the blazing
building was soon reduced to charred and smoking ruins.”
Some of the most prized
possessions of the 13th battalion was immediately thought of when
the fire was discovered to be out of control:
“Just as
the fire broke through the roof, Captain Zealand arrived on the scene. His
first thought was of the regimental colors of the Thirteenth battalion. He
broke a window in the officers’ quarters and groped his way through the thick
smoke and horrible heat to where he knew the colors stood. They were there, and
also the drum major’s staff, and Captain Zealand bore them to the window and
handed them out to Color-Sergt. Omand. The colors and the staff are the only
relics of the fire that were saved from the armory.
THE
REGIMENTAL PAPERS
were saved by a young French-Canadian named Peter
Legaire, an employee of Tuckett and Son, who risked his life to get these
precious documents out of the building. He literally snatched them out of the
flames and was nearly suffocated in the attempt. Capt. Zealand and Lieut.
Hobson assisted to get out the papers, but the chief credit is due to this
heroic Frenchman. Legaire also made himself conspicuous for the splendid work
he did on the roof of the caretaker’s house, which was saved from destruction
mainly through his untiring and noble efforts.”
After the
fire, a Spectator reporter managed to have a conversation with the leader of
the 13th Battalion band:
“The greatest individual
loser by the fire is Bandmaster Robinson. ‘Nearly all my music is gone,’ said
he on Saturday night – ‘the accumulation of many years. The loss is of such a
character that it is difficult to estimate it, because much of the music cannot
be replaced. There are many original compositions and I don’t know how many
arrangements of my own, besides an immense quantity of printed music, very
little of which has been saved. I would not have taken $400 for my share of the
music that has been destroyed, and I don’t think the loss to the band can be
less than $1,000. Besides several instruments and nearly all the music, all the
new helmets which we imported from England for wearing at the Knight Templars’
demonstration next fall, have been destroyed. Fortunately the new uniforms were
not in the building.”1
Other losses for the 13th
battalion were enumerated:
“The loss was heavy. On
Wednesday last, the battalion was inspected by Brigade Major Millson, and all
the great coats, rifles, belts, leggins, helmets and other accoutrements had
been returned and were in the armories. The leggins and helmets were the
private property of the men. Everything of this sort was burned, excepting the
tunics and trowsers that the men had away with them. The officers suffered
most. Their quarters were very handsomely furnished, and contained a quantity
of valuable pictures, glassware, electro-plated ware, relics etc. All the
officers lost their swords, Col. Skinner’s military clothing is all burned,
Col. Gibson loses a number of revolvers and some ammunition for them, and
besides these, the hospital arrangements, ambulances (purchased last year), and
the general mess equipage are all gone. With the loss of the music, it is
estimated that the battalion is out $4,000, $500 of which is covered by
insurance on the furniture. This does not include the money spent by the
officers on improvements and changes around the building which will probably
amount to $500 more.
NOR
IS THIS ALL
Many of the officers had brought little things around to
beautify their quarters and had some personal property there, which will
probably mean a still further loss of $600 or $700. All the plated cups were
burned, it not being considered worth their while storing these with the solid
silver pieces. Of course, all this is quite apart from the government’s loss,
and it’s hard to tell just what the building, the ancient rifles, the belts,
knapsacks, forage caps and other things were worth. A new sidewalk had been
laid in the yard and helped to feed the flames before it was even paid for.”1
The next
morning, a leading officer with the 13th Battalion was approached
for comment:
“In an
interview with Major Moore yesterday, he said : ‘I think $4,000 is a small
estimate of our loss as a body. We had some very valuable pictures in our officers’
quarters and some that were not worth much in themselves and yet that money
could not buy on account of the tender memories connected with them that made
them dear to us. We had relics there from every officer that has ever belonged
to the battalion, things that money cannot replace. Every moment I think of
something else that has gone. We telegraphed to the department last night last
night, and Lieutenant-Colonel Denison, the deputy adjutant-general, will be
here tomorrow. Of course, we cannot tell yet what the government will do. The
burned building was put up in the spring of 1868, commenced in March and
Finished in May. The brick additions to it which formed the gunsheds and
armories, were built in 1877. The sheds were originally built by the officers,
assisted by the citizens. No, I have no idea how the fire started, unless it
came from some boys with firecrackers in an adjoining yard or through a spark
from an adjacent chimney. I am glad the records have been saved. The loss in
music is a big item. The collections of twenty years were there, and only a
little of it was saved.’ ”
A bizarre
incident occurred not long after the blaze was effectively put out and the
firemen had returned to the station:
““At two o’clock yesterday
morning, the fire department was called again to the scene of their recent exertions.
A few boards blazed up, and the sentinels on guard easily extinguished the
blaze. Sergt. Hawkins, however, the officer of the guard, thought it would be a
good joke to call out the firemen again, and he sounded box 14. The firemen,
all of whom were dead tired after their strenuous labors, and had not been long
in bed, were soon on the spot, only to find that they had been awakened and
summoned in order to gratify Sergt. Hawkins’ sense of humor. It would not have
taken much to induce the firemen to clean out the guard right there and then;
but Chief Aitchison contented himself with laying out an information against
the humorous sergeant for trespassing on city property, the city property being
the alarm box. This was his only legal means of redress.”1
For the Spectator’s article
on the devastating fire which destroyed Hamilton’s Drill Shed, a number of
short notes were added at the end:
“Major
Moore lost a couple of swords, one of which was quite new.
For the present the headquarters of the
battalion will be at 10 Hughson street north.
A couple of the handsome vases in the yard
were too badly damaged to be of any further use.
The luxuriant growth of Virginia creeper on
the northern wall was blighted while its life was young.
No. 2 company had just fitted up its armory at
an expense of about $1000, and is the heaviest loser of the companies.
Sentries were detailed to guard the gates and
keep small boys from running in and stealing cinders and burnt boards.
It was a fire in which the steam engine’s
services were appreciated. There was no time lost in getting it to work, and it
did good service.
Such a crowd as gathered in the vicinity has
not witnessed a fire since the destruction of the McInnes block. Half the city
seemed to be there.
The
handsome china tea set, in which the officers were wont to regale their friends
with fragrant Bohea on Wednesday afternoons, sleeps peacefully amid the ruins.
The music destroyed is the accumulation of
twenty years. While most of the finest pieces were burned, See Saw, Peek-a-Boo
and Wait Till the Clouds Roll By Jennie, were saved.
Nobody knows the cause of the fire. It was
not, as at first supposed, a spark from the chimney of the adjoining bakery,
for the fires in the bakery were out at 11 a.m. It was probably caused by a
carelessly thrown firecracker.
The police rendered good service in roping off
wide space around the building and keeping the crowd back, and also in saving
the contents of the gun shed. Chief Stewart, in his shirt sleeves, personally
superintended the police arrangements.
A fresh young man named James Mansfield was
making himself unpleasantly officious and getting into the firemen’s way, when
Chief Aitchison caught him by the collar and the bosom of his trousers and
incontinently fired him into the crowd.
In answering the second alarm early yesterday
morning, one of the reels ran into a baker’s wagon on James street and smashed
it. Sergt. Hawkins, who gave the unnecessary alarm, will probably be made to
pay for the damage to the wagon.
There was some ball cartridge in the building
as well as a lot of blank ammunition. The explosion of the ball cartridge,
which went off like a fusillade, knocked out the brick wall on the north side,
but fortunately nobody was hit. The popping of the blank cartridge made many
people nervous.”1
While
the losses experienced in the fire were most felt by members of the 13th
Battalion, most Hamiltonians deeply regretted to learn of what had happened.
One woman, Mrs. Rebecca Jackson put her feelings into a poem :
FIRE IN THE DRILL SHED
It was Saturday evening and
my thoughts were nice and still,
When I saw a fire in the
drill she, very much against my will,
Then the fire bell sounded;
then the firemen came,
And they worked with might
and skill until they subdued the flames,
I am so sorry for the drill
sheds, and the beautiful trees,
And the Virginia creeper
that used to bow to the breeze,
We are sorry for the red
coats, and for Major Moore’s swords;
For Bandmaster Robinson’s
music, which we all so much adored.
But soon we will have
another drill shed, and our flag will float in the breeze;
Then every heart that
weepeth bow shall sweetly be at ease.
God bless our noble chief
and fire men will long and peaceful lives;
May they enter heaven at
last, where there is no hasty drives.
