The Great Fire of 1892: The Night St. John’s Burned

On July 8, 1892, what started as an ordinary summer Friday in St. John's turned into one of the worst disasters the city has ever known. By the next morning, much of the capital was gone - streets erased, landmarks gutted, businesses levelled, and more than 11,000 people left homeless.

People here still talk about it as “the Great Fire.” Not just as an event, but as a turning point: the day that reshaped the city and proved what its people were made of.

This is the factual, documented story, and the reason it still feels legendary today.

Where the Fire Began

Historical accounts trace the origin to the stable of Timothy Brine on Carter’s Hill, near the Freshwater and Pennywell Road area. At roughly 5 p.m., dry hay was ignited: most sources say by a pipe or match. 

No one expected it to become a citywide catastrophe.

But conditions were stacked the wrong way:

• Dry summer weather

• Strong winds

• Closely packed wooden buildings

• An under-equipped fire brigade

• A recent decision to lower water pressure in city mains

There had also been very little meaningful rain in the days leading up to the fire, leaving buildings, sheds, fences, and rooftops dried out and highly flammable. When the blaze took hold, it found ready fuel everywhere it turned. To make matters worse, the city’s water pressure had been reduced shortly beforehand, and firefighters struggled with weak, inconsistent flow from their hoses. Crews responded quickly, but they were fighting a wind-driven urban fire with too little pressure and not enough usable water to stop it.

What looked manageable at first quickly moved beyond control.

How the Flames Took the City

Driven by wind, the fire surged along Freshwater Road, split near Harvey Road, and roared down Long’s Hill toward the commercial core. Sparks carried ahead of the main blaze, igniting rooftops and outbuildings far in front of the fire line.

Downtown, including Duckworth Street and Water Street, was especially vulnerable. Buildings stood tight together, much of the construction was timber, and once one structure went, the next followed fast.

Eyewitness reports describe:

• Burning embers falling like snow

• Rooflines igniting in seconds

• Fire leaping intersections

• Families fleeing with whatever they could carry

Some escaped toward the harbour. Some took to boats. Many simply watched their homes disappear.

Churches and Landmarks Were Lost

Anglican Cathedral - photo from heritage.nf

Many believed stone buildings would hold as safe refuge.

They did not.

Both the Anglican Cathedral of St. John the Baptist and Gower Street Methodist Church were overtaken. The Anglican Cathedral was left a hollow shell without a roof. Its full restoration took more than ten years.

The loss of these buildings shook the city. If those walls could fall, nothing was safe.

Some contemporary reports also recorded instances of looting in commercial areas during the height of the chaos - documented, but not widespread enough to define the night.

By Morning: A City in Ashes

When daylight came on July 9, the scale of destruction was clear:

• Over 2,000 buildings destroyed

• Roughly two-thirds of the city burned

• Estimated $13 million in losses

• Only about $4.8 million insured

• More than 11,000 people homeless

One of the most striking and well-documented facts: despite the scale, loss of life was surprisingly low, something historians still remark on.

Local historian Judge D.W. Prowse later condemned the city’s preparedness, writing:

“If this department is ever left again in the same hands… we deserve to be burnt.”

It was blunt, and widely quoted, because many agreed.

Relief Came Fast and From Everywhere

What followed is a big part of why this story endures.

Relief began almost immediately:

• Emergency food and clothing distribution

• Temporary shelters

• Organized aid committees

• Public fundraising

Support arrived from:

• Other Newfoundland communities

• Canada

• Britain

• Newfoundland communities abroad - especially Boston

Families took in families. Churches organized supplies. Businesses shared space. The response wasn’t just official, it was neighbour-driven.

How the City Rebuilt Differently

The rebuild changed St. John’s permanently.

Reconstruction brought:

• Wider streets

• More brick and stone construction

• Better firebreak planning

• A restructured fire service

• New stations and equipment

• Full-time firefighters

• Fire services placed under the Newfoundland Constabulary

Many downtown buildings standing today exist because the earlier ones were lost in 1892. The layout people walk now is, in many places, the second version of the city.

That’s not trivia, that’s living history under your boots.

The 1992 Harvey Road Fire: A Century Later

In 1992, nearly 100 years later, another major blaze broke out on Harvey Road, starting at the Church Lads’ Brigade Armoury and spreading to nearby buildings.

Fire Commissioner Fred Hollett described it as a conflagration intense enough to generate its own wind behaviour. Damage was significant, but modern response prevented another downtown-wide loss.

Some locals talk about a fire “pattern.” Historians call it coincidence and urban risk. Either way, 1892 still frames how the city thinks about fire safety.

Why This Story Still Matters

The Great Fire is remembered not just because of what was destroyed - but because of what followed.

The city rebuilt. Quickly. Practically. Determinedly.

Talk to people from here and you’ll hear the same idea in different words: St. John’s bends, burns, freezes, floods.. and keeps going anyway.

Walk Water Street or Duckworth Street now and you’re not just seeing historic blocks. You’re seeing proof of refusal - a city that would not disappear.

That’s why this isn’t just history.

It’s part of the legend.