A remarkably vivid account of the fire, from the picturesque
and trustworthy pen of Mr. Ward Price, appeared in the Daily Mail of last Saturday. Mr. Price, who watched its progress from the deck of the 'Iron Duke,' lying just off the town, describes "an unbroken wall of fire, two miles long, in which twenty distinct volcanoes of raging flames are throwing up jagged, writhing tongues to a height of a hundred feet. Against this curtain of fue, which blocks out the sky, are silhouetted the towers of the Greek churches, the domes of the mosques, and the flat square roofs of the houses. All Smyrna's warehouses, business buildings, and European rem. dances, with others behind them, burned like furious torches. From this intensely glowing mass of yellow, orange and crimson fire pour up thick clotted coils of oily black smoke that hide the moon at its zenith. The sea glows a deep copper red, and, worst of all, from the densely packed mob of many thousands of refugees huddled on the narrow quay, between the advancing fiery death behind and the deep water in front, comes continuously such frantic screaming of sheer terror as can be heard miles away." Reporting of this adusirable kind has a distinct historical value.
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