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! "Hurrah! boys, here's the porter
and ale with the chill off."
Bottles are handed out burning hot--the necks of two bottles are knocked
together!--Contents drunk in colonial style.
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