One hundred and
sixty-nine years ago today, on 9th June 1846, a fire broke out when
a glue pot boiled over in a cabinetmaker's workshop on George Street in St
John's.
Dry weather and strong winds fanned the flames, which
spread to other parts of the town. Closely
built wooden houses and numerous vats of seal oil stored at merchants' premises
along the waterfront provided excellent fuel. By nightfall, 2,000 buildings had been
destroyed and 12,000 people were homeless. Damages were estimated at £888,356.
 |
| St John's 1844, two years before the fire |
This is an article, written by Wanita Bates, which
appeared in the newsletter of
Conference
of Presentation Sisters.
Wanita has very kindly given me permission to
reproduce it here. I am really grateful
to Wanita because this gives us an amazing look into that terrible time in the
history of St John’s and the Presentation Sisters. I find this letter very poignant and it
certainly shows us the quality of the wonderful women who made up the
Presentation Congregation in Newfoundland at that time. Read on and be touched and awestruck! Here is Wanita's article: "1800s Burning of Presentation Convent, Newfoundland, Submitted by Wanita Bates (Newfoundland)
The following is an
interesting account of the burning of the Presentation Convent at St. John's,
Newfoundland. It was written by one of the community to her relative in this
city. Here is the article from The Sydney Chronicle, Australia, of May
12, 1847. (Taken originally from the Bengal Catholic Herald, Calcutta)
'Presentation
Convent, St. John's,
June 30.
I suppose
you are ere this aware of the dreadful conflagration of the 9th June. It were
vain to describe the horrors of that day; none but an eye-witness could
conceive them.
Immediately
after breakfast, on the 9th, we were alarmed by the sound of the fire bell; we
ran to the garden, and saw the fire but at a great distance; we had not the
slightest fear for ourselves, we being apparently out of the reach of the fire,
and I may say in the only safe part of the town.
Being so
circumstanced, we occupied ourselves the entire morning in comforting the poor
creatures who ran to us in their affliction, bringing us their money and all
they had most precious, to keep for them.
Poor
widows left their orphan children inside the gates with us, thinking them safe,
while they themselves went to try and save some of their little substance.
Our
convent was open to all on that melancholy morning; poor mothers fainting in
our parlours; others crying frantically, who had lost their children in the
speed with which they had to fly from the devouring element, amid terror and
confusion.
The
prospect now looked supernatural, as if the exterminating angel had come down
from Heaven to destroy all. Our spirits were sunk, our hearts were bursting
with grief at the desolation before us-we had scarcely any energy left.
The
sisters were by turns before the most holy Sacrament, imploring the mercy of
God, and beseeching him to spare his people and stop the flames; even the
innocent children who were left in our charge raised their little hands to
Heaven, and lisped the words" Oh, God stop the flames!"
In the
midst of this heart-rending scene we had not thought of ourselves; little
imagining, we were so soon to share the same fate as the creatures whom we were
bemoaning.
It was
now twelve-o'clock, the confusion became greater and greater, while the rapidly
spreading fire was sweeping all before it still, it was not near us; but by
some cause, which no one can to this day account for, the new school-house
which was opposite the Convent and nearly finished, suddenly burst into flames.
It was
full of shavings, and some say that on taking half burned things from the town,
passing the school, some spark fell among the half dry shavings, but no one can
account for it, or know anything for certain.
Some of
the sisters were standing outside, when a young man, almost frantic with
fright, ran over, exclaiming, "the school is on fire!" and at the
same moment a shower of fire fell upon the Convent, burst in the windows, and
broke all the glass.
We were
in different parts of the houses, and quite unconscious of our danger, when we
heard the cry of the people rushing in to save us, and calling aloud while they
burst in the doors.
God! What
a thunderbolt for us! And how sudden, without a moment's warning without a
minute's preparation, without time to save a single article, without even a
look, while leaving the spot we were standing on.
We had to
leave all to the mercy of the flames - our chapel, our beautiful oratories, which
we took such pride in decorating, our books, our pictures, our handsome
chalices, our convent, our all, to escape with our lives.
When I
got outside the door I met two of the sisters; we were almost in a state of
distraction; we missed the Reverend Mother and some of the Novices; we cried
out to the people, who were now gathering in crowds, to run, for God's sake,
and save the Nuns.
One of
them was taken out of the window by a soldier, another, as she was running to
reach the hall door, found it in flames, and threw herself down a back stair,
and escaped by a back way.
The
Reverend Mother was regulating (working) in the cellar, quite unconscious of
what was going on, when she was aroused by the voice of a man who roared to her
"to bring whatever she could seize most precious : that the convent was
on fire."
As she
ran out the burning sparks were falling on her veil. We were now all outside,
but were soon obliged to quit the enclosure, as the flames were spreading on
all sides.
To
describe our feelings at this awful moment would be impossible, at thus leaving
our Convent where we had so lately entered with such joy, and where we were but
just comfortably settled after 13 years of expectation, and where we hoped to
endure days peacefully and happily.
We were
hurried away to an adjoining field, where we sat down upon the grass, fainting,
crying, and almost dead with grief.
The alarm
soon reached the town; the terrified multitude, little prepared for this
additional shock, now lost all courage and energy; they threw down whatever
they were trying to save for themselves saying, "the end of the world is
coming!”
Every eye
was turned towards the Convent; the people forgot their own sufferings;
Catholic and Protestant, men, women, and children were all struck motionless at
the sight of that beautiful edifice, the pride of Newfoundland, the hope, the
comfort of religion, and of the poor, our good Bishop's delight, now slowly
consuming.
All
efforts to save it were vain. The poor Priests were horror-stricken at the
news; one of them fainted off; hardly could they approach the awful scene. One
who got into the chapel through a window, in order to remove the Most Holy
Sacrament, had his hand burned, for the Altar was in flames.
What a
sight was now before us. Our Convent, for whose establishment we had sighed so
many years, and which was just at the point of flourishing, those schools at
which we used to look with such pleasure, in hopes of being soon surrounded
with our little flock; and; in-a moment we were deprived of all.
The
Sisters-of Mercy made their way over to us, and endeavoured to comfort us.
Nothing could equal the kindness of the people: Protestants and Catholics came
to offer us their houses.
The
Colonel, who was in the town, rode up in haste, when he saw the Convent on
fire, to render what assistance he could, but it was too late; he then most
kindly came to us, spoke with our Reverend Mother, and offered his apartments
in the barrack; and as we would not accept of them, he offered to erect a tent
where we were, for our use, and to place a guard over the few things saved.
As soon
as we were able to walk, we left this scene of desolation, for the Convent of
Mercy, where we remained until evening, and then went in the Bishop's carriage
to his cottage, a mile out of town, where we are still, sleeping on the floor,
four in a room; but we are fortunate to have a roof over us, for on that
calamitous night there were 11,000 souls houseless.
If
anything could afford us consolation at such a time it is that we have the
hearts of the people with us. Nothing can equal the general feeling and
sympathy of all classes at our unexpected affliction; to use their own
expression, "the ruins of our convent were well watered with their
tears." All classes and persuasions lamented the fate of that beautiful edifice.
The
tradespeople and the poor in general were in transports of grief
(grief-stricken), and the poor men wept and sobbed like children, and said they
did not care for their own losses if the convent had been spared.
As our
provisions were gone, they feared we were in want, and came with eagerness to
share their mite with us; in fact, if the Bishop can rebuild the convent we
shall never want; for if these people had but one loaf, they would divide it
with us. I believe a more grateful or a more generous people could not be found
on earth.
We are no
longer sisters of Mount Carmel, but the children of the cross. May we get grace
and strength to make good use of our suffering, and to drink of the chalice
sent us, however bitter it may be.
Mary
Xaverius Lynch’
 |
| Sr Xaverius Lynch PBVM |
No comments:
Post a Comment