A three-storied building was already half gutted; out of its
windows roared long, fiery tongues; the structure snapped and
volleyed a chorus to the sullen monotone of destruction. The
street was littered with the household belongings of the
neighborhood, and from the galleries and windows near by came such
a flight of miscellaneous articles as to menace the safety of
those below. Men shouted, women screamed, children shrieked,
figures appeared upon the fire-lit balconies hurling forth armfuls
of cooking utensils, bedding, lamps, food, and furniture, utterly
careless of where they fell or of the damage they suffered. Kirk
saw one man fling a graphophone from a top window, then lower a
mattress with a rope. On all sides was a bedlam which the arrival
of the firemen only augmented. The fire captains shouted orders to
the buglers, the buglers blew feebly upon their horns, the
companies deployed in obedience to the bugles, then everybody
waited for further directions.

Again the trumpet sounded, whereupon each fireman began to
interfere with his neighbor; a series of quarrels arose as
couplings were made or broken; then, after an interminable delay,
water began to flow, as if by a miracle. But except in rare
instances it failed to reach the flames. A ladder-truck, drawn by
another excited company, now rumbled upon the scene, its arrival
adding to the general disorder. Meanwhile, the steady tradewind
fanned the blaze to ever-growing proportions.

"Why the devil don't they get closer?" Kirk inquired of his
Jamaican companion.

Allan's eyes were wide and ringed with white; his teeth gleamed in