d there, and with their long swords are in the
way both of themselves and of every one else.

But the sailors plunge into the very fire itself; entering the
houses, they strive to rescue the contents until the roofs fall in.
They climb up on the neighbouring houses with wet sails, and pull
down sheds and boardings.

Thomas Randulf and Jacob Worse were known from their boyhood as the
most daring on such occasions.

They were always the first on the spot, carrying out the aged and the
invalids, and afterwards taking the hottest and most dangerous posts.
In fact, they were the real commanders, although the fire inspector
had yellow and crimson feathers in his three-cornered hat.

At such time the merchants were in greater anxiety than the rest of
the population. Insurance was not usual; indeed, some of the
sectaries looked upon it as sinful. Others said that their insurance
was in the hands of the Almighty.

But when the wind set in their direction, and the wooden houses
blazed up, one after the other, the wisest and the best of them lost
their heads, and ran about throwing sacks of corn and flour into the
sea, labouring to destroy, whilst they forgot to save the cash in the
office close at hand.

Through the flame and smoke, through the uproar and the shouting, is
heard the booming of the great cathedral bell. Two or three slow
peals, then a long pause, and then more quickly intermittent single
peals, a dismal, hope-dispelling sound.

It is not an alarm bell rousing people to come to the rescue, it is
rather the church's prayer for mercy, a despairing appeal to God to
stop the raging flames.

But the winter nights could also show a different life in the dark
little town. It might be Christmas time, or just after New Year's
Day, when the north-west wind was bringing snow-storms every half
hour, the stars shining brightly between whiles.

Suddenly a boat would appear in the inner fjord, another and yet
another, then a small smack, followed again by a couple more boats,
each steering for its own destination in the harbour, and groping its
way to the ring-bolts under the warehouses and along the quays.

A man would jump on shore and run at full speed up into the town, his
huge sea-boots leaving marks as of elephants' feet on the newly
fallen snow. The watchman would hold up his lantern and survey the
wayfarer, whose boots, trousers, and even his sou-wester, shine with
countless starlike, silvery specks.

The wa