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 BURNING OF THE 
 
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 .HRILUNG |£RSONAL |XPERIENCEi 
 
 B Momii 
 
 m{)-M^^\Jf'3m'i 
 
 WHOLESALE HOLOCAUST AT THE BROOKLYN, 
 NEW YORK, THEATRE, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Tte Hmtofl Mfii, Wofflgfl M Gliii 
 
 BURIl'D IN THli BLAZING RUINS! 
 
 ORIGIN, PEOGRESS AND DEVASTATION 
 OF THE EIRE. 
 
 The Tragedy in the Galleries — A Wedge of Death — Into a Pit of Fire — 
 
 Harrowing Scenes and Incidents — Affecting and Exciting Stories of 
 
 Survivors — Two Actors among the Victims — The Ghastly 
 
 Array of the Disfigured Dead — Heartrending Scenes 
 
 in Identifying the Remains — Complete List of 
 
 the Victims — Burial of the Dead. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 V^-;^ 
 
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 BARCLAY & CO., PITBT.TSHERS, 
 
 N«. ffl KOKTH SEVKNTll tTBKET 
 
 r^vf,.,, r 
 

 Ent'-'ed according to Act of Cougress, in the year 1S76, by 
 
 BARCLAY A CO., 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN 
 THEATRE. 
 
 PIE destruction of the Brooklyn Theatre, on the night of Tuesday, 
 December the 5th, was the most terrible calamity of its kind that 
 has occurred in this country. What was first deemed to be an ordi- 
 nary fire, naturally involving serious financial loss to the owners, the 
 lessees and the actors, was really a catastrophe of the most heartrend- 
 ing character, causing, as it did, the loss of upwards of three hundred lives. 
 No theatre fire on this continent had so much horror lent to it. Even the 
 most stony-hearted were touched by the awfulness of this great calamity. 
 
 Three hundred human beings of both sexes and of all ages were thrust into 
 eternity through an agonizing and painful death. They were thus doomed at a 
 moment of pleasure and mental excitement over the mimic troubles of the dra- 
 matic personages in a play possessing features that touched the hearts of those 
 who followed the scenes on the stage. At a moment when every eye was fixed 
 on the painted scene, and every ear strained on the utterances of the several 
 characters, the dreadful cry of "Fire!" was raised, and, in a few momenta 
 after, the entire building was filled with flame and smoke, and hundreds of 
 men, women and children were suffocated and burned to death, and their 
 charred and disfigured remains buried beneath the ruins. 
 
 Such is the simple and terse record of this most dreadful occurrence, and 
 these few sentences afford such outline and visible form to the picture that it 
 scarcely needs the shocking details that necessarily follow to give it color 
 and ghastliuess. That so much horror should attend the burning of a theatre 
 sent a thrill of pain through every heart in the land. The full scope of the 
 calamity and the dreadful scenes attending it are depicted in the accounts 
 that follow. 
 
 No more awful moment can be imagined than that when the fire was dis- 
 covered. The full moon of the fatal evening had tempted upwards of twelve 
 hundred people from their homes, and lighted them to the brilliant entrance 
 of the theatre. The famous play of the " Two Orphans," with an excellent 
 cast, mainly from the Union Square Theatre, of New York city, was the 
 attraction, and had renewed its fascinations over a public long since familiar 
 with its story. The audience was characteristically a Brooklyn gathering. 
 Many well-known citizens were there : among them the family of Mr. AYil. 
 
 19 
 
20 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 liam C. Kingsley, the Hon. Henry C. Murphy, Edgar Cullen and ladies, E. 
 B. Dickinson and ladies, and Henry Beam. The following was the distribu- 
 tion of characters in the play, and, with the exception of Miss Morant, Mifia 
 Vernon and one or two of the minor characters, all the members were in the 
 theatre at the outbreak of the fire : 
 
 Chevalier De Vaudry Mr. C. R. Thome. 
 
 Count de Linieres, MinLster of Police Mr. IT. F. Daly. 
 
 - Picard, Valet to the Chevalier Mr. Claude Burroughs. 
 
 Jacques Frochard, an Outlaw Mr. J. B. Studley. 
 
 Pierre Frochard, liis Brother Mr. II. S. Murdocli. 
 
 Marquis de Presles ' , . Mr. J. G. Peakes. 
 
 Doctor of the Hospitals St. Louis and Salpetriere Mr. H. B. Phillips. 
 
 La Fleur Mr. H. W. Montgomery. 
 
 Officer of the CJuard Mr. John Mathews. 
 
 Martin Mr. L. Thompson. 
 
 De Mailly. ...... ^ ., Mr. J. Clements. 
 
 D'Estres Mr. George Dalton. 
 
 Footman . . . Mr. E. Lamb. 
 
 Antoine Mr. E. Struthers. 
 
 Loui.se, f The "> Miss Kate Claxton. 
 
 Henriette, I Two Orphans. / Miss Maude Harrison. 
 
 La Frochard Mrs. Farren. 
 
 Countess de Linieres Mias Fanny Morant. 
 
 Sister Genevieve Miss Ida Vernon. 
 
 Marianna, an Outcast Miss Kate Girard. 
 
 Julie ; . .Miss Ethel Allen. 
 
 Cora Mi.ss L. Cleves. 
 
 Sister Therese Mrs. L. E. Seymour. : 
 
 The play had proceeded to the last scene of the last act. The curtain had 
 just been rung up, revealing a scene of exciting and pathetic interest to the' 
 audience. It was the interior of the hovel boat-house on the Seine. The 
 blind Louise (Miss Claxton) lay on a bed of straw ; Mine. Frochard (]\Ir3.. 
 Farren) was scraping a carrot; the cripple was at his wheel, and Jacques: 
 was about to emphasize his brutality with a threat. As was natural from, 
 her recliniog position, which enabled her to see the flies, the first flame.- 
 caught the eye of Miss Claxton. Mr. Murdoch (Pierre) was delivering his 
 speech when the two heard a whisper of " Fire " from behind the scenes, and, 
 looking up, saw flames issuing from the flies. Mr. Murdoch stopped, but 
 Miss Claxton whispered to him, "Go on, they will put it out, there will be a- 
 panic — go on," and he resumed. So far the audience had not noticed any- 
 thing out of the way, and the two played the scene through, Mrs. Farren 
 (Frochard) entering meanwhile. The carpenters were all the while trying to; 
 stop the progress of the flames, unnoticed by the house, and Miss Claxton 
 delivered her little speech io Jacques : "I forbid you to touch me," which ^ 
 was greeted with applause. Meanwhile thq audience had begun to suspect 
 something, and with Miss Claxton's words, " I will beg no more," the actoi-s 
 were forced to move from fear of falling timber, and the audience rose to 
 their feet. Mrs. Farren and Mr. Murdoch stepped to the footlights and 
 waved to the people to resume their seats, while Mr. Studley and Miss Clax- 
 ton went forward to do likewise. Mr. Studley shouted : " Ladies and gentle-. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 21 
 
 men, there will be no more of the play, of course; you can all go out if you 
 will only keep quiet." Miss Claxton, at the other end of the stage, begged 
 the people to keep cool, adding : " We are between you and the flames." 
 
 By this time the fire (which seems to have originated by some of the " short 
 drops" blowing against the " border lights" in the flies, and so communicat- 
 ing to the scenery) had made so much headway that the actors had to look 
 out for tliemselves. They iiad held their ground as long as it was possible, 
 and, seeing from the panic which started immediately in the gallery and spread 
 all over the upper part of the house, that the worst had begun, they began their 
 retreat, the ground floor being already almost cleared. Mr. Thorne had gone. 
 Mr. Burroughs was up-stairs in his dressing-room, from which he escaped 
 only to meet his death. Mr. Murdoch was never seen again. Miss Claxton 
 and Miss Harrison rushed one way ; Miss Girard and the minor people 
 another. 
 
 The sight of fire seemed to paralyze every one for an instant, and just aa 
 they recovered sufficiently to act, Mr. Studley's sudden coming to the front 
 of the stage and assuring them that there was no cause for alarm caused 
 another pause of a second. It was for a second only. The blazing fragments 
 began falling thick and fast, contradicting the actor's well-intentioned decep- 
 tion. The audience arose as by one impulse and made a rush for the doors. 
 The entreaties of Miss Claxton and Mr. Murdoch were unheeded. The fierce 
 struggle for life had begun. * 
 
 The ushers for the most part preserved their presence of mind and endeav- 
 ored to enforce order among the rushing crowd, as did also the police in 
 attendance. Mr. Rochfert, the head usher, broke open a small door at the 
 farther end of the vestibule and increased the facilities of exit into the open 
 air, which regularly consisted of two doors five feet wide, opening upon Wash- 
 ington street. Mr. Rochfert also entered the auditorium and endeavored to 
 quell the excitement, but without effect. 
 
 A fire alarm had been immediately sent from the First Precinct Station- 
 .House, which is located next the theatre, and a minute or two after a general 
 alarm and also a call for the reserved force of all the precincts. But by the 
 time the engines were in position and at work the fire was beyond control. 
 The occupants of the orchestra chairs and parquet had had but little difl[iculty 
 in making good their escape, but at least two-thirds and perhaps even a larger 
 fraction of the audience were still in the dress-circle and gallery. The lowest 
 estimate of the number in the gallery is that five or six hundred people were 
 in that portion of the house, and from among these were most of the three 
 hundred deaths. The exit from the first balcony was down a single flight of 
 stairs in the rear of the vestibule. Down these stairs the people came in score?, 
 leaping and jumping in wild confusion. The way out from the upper gallery 
 was down a short flight of stairs starting from the south wall of the building, 
 thence by a short turn down a long flight against the same wall to the level 
 of the balcony, and from this floor down a cased flight into Washington street. 
 Tlie main floor and first balcony were soon emptied through their respective 
 exits, but for the five or six hundred panic-stricken gallery spectators to pass 
 safely through the tortuous passage described was next to an impossibility, 
 
22 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 Every indication points to the belief that, suffocated by the staoke forced down 
 like a wall from the roof, the mass of those in the upper gallery thronged 
 about the entrance to the stairs and were either blocked there so as to make 
 exit impossible, or were unable even to make the attempt to escape, and sank 
 down, one upon the other, to fall in a mass into the horrible pit under the 
 vestibule when the supports of the gallery were burned away. Those near the 
 entrance of the stairs were, probably, the only ones who were able to escape 
 from this terrible slaughter-pen. There was comparatively little outcry here, 
 and this again would seem to indicate that suftbcatiou had intervened to numb 
 the sensibilities of the hundreds to whom death was to come by fire. 
 
 As soon as the flames reached the rear of the theatre, near the entrances, 
 where the hundreds of people were contending wildly, the horror of the sceive 
 was increased tenfold. Some leaped madly from the gallery upon the orches- 
 tra chairs, and only a few were sufficiently self-possessed to lower themselves 
 by the railings. One man escaped by the small window at the head of the 
 gallery stairs, letting himself down upon the roof of the station-house. Ano- 
 ther, who attempted the same escape, was suffocated or became insensible as 
 he reached the window, and was seen sitting motionless there until swept 
 away. A few lowered themselves from the second-story windows on the 
 Flood's alley side. But the great mass stood helplessly blocked in. The 
 smoke became unbearable, and the police and firemen who had been able to 
 penetrate the crowd at all were obliged to retire. They seized as many of the 
 paralyzed bodies as they could and dragged them into the street, passing on 
 their way out over piles of insensible men and boys. Fifteen minutes after 
 the fire broke out the interior of the theatre was wrapped in flames. Shortly 
 after the roof fell in, and, at 11.45, a half an hour after the fire started, the 
 broad east wall fell with a terrible crash. The few who had reached the first 
 flight of stairs from the street were taken out and carried into the First Pre- 
 cinct Station-House. The crowd that had escaped from the theatre remained 
 in the adjacent streets. Men without hats or coats, with clothing torn and 
 faces bruised; women bonnetless and dishevelled, weeping convulsively — 
 every face was a picture of woe and fright. 
 
 The crowd was quickly and largely augmented by the anxious throng of 
 sight-seers, and to keep them within the proper limits required the efforts of 
 nearly the entire reserved police force of the city. The Police Commissioners 
 and Superintendent Campbell, and Inspector "Waddy; the Chief of the Fire 
 Department, Thomas F. Nevins, and Fire Marshal Keady, had been tele- 
 graphed for and came promptly to the scene of the conflagration, and did 
 everything in their power to provide for the sufferers, for many had been 
 brought out bruised and burned. The firemen had not fairly begun their labors 
 before it became evident that it was impossible to save the theatre or any part 
 of it; the entire attention of the force was therefore directed to the surround- 
 ing buildings, which meanwhile were seriously threatened. Several small 
 buildings on the opposite side of Flood's alley were partially destroyed, and 
 at one time the First Precinct Station-House was in imminent danger. The 
 fire was, however, confined to the theatre by the united exertions of the entire 
 fire department. The interior decorations of the theatre were of such light 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 25 
 
 and inflammable material that the fire was quite beyond their control, so far 
 as the theatre was concerned, and the roof being equally light and inflamma- 
 ble, it required constant exertion to keep the fire from spreading. 
 
 At about three o'clock in the morning the fire had been nearly extinguished, 
 and the major part of the throng of sight-seers had gone to their homes, igno- 
 rant of the fatal consequences of the conflagration. 
 
 The flames had subsided sufficiently to permit the firemen to make an in- 
 vestigation near the main entrance of the theatre. Chief Nevins passed over 
 the trembling floor of the hallway toward the inner doorway. Inside the 
 doors the flooring had fallen in, leaving a deep pit of fire and flame, from 
 which a dense smoke and steam ascended. Here a sickening spectacle met 
 his horrified gaze. Close up to the flaming furnace, and clinging to the splin- 
 tered verge of the demolished flooring, was the body of a woman. Her hands 
 clasped the frame-work of the door in a desperate grasp. She had fought 
 hard for life. Evidently she would have escaped had not the flooring given 
 way beneath her. All the clothing was burnt ofl^, and the features were so 
 blackened that she was unrecognizable, and the body was removed to the 
 Morgue. 
 
 At 4 o'clock in the morning the flames were put out, and the heap of debris 
 was black and cold. From the vestibule platform the firemen saw a most 
 horrible spectacle. The mound that had at first appeared to be simply a heap 
 of ashes proved to be almost wholly composed of human bodies. Heads, arms,. 
 legs, shoulders, shoes, and here and there entire human remains protruded 
 through the surface of the mound. Policemen and firemen hesitated for a 
 moment before leaping ilown upon the sickening heap. An inclined plane 
 of plain deal boards was hastily constructed to reach from the tender vesti- 
 bule platform to the pit, and upon this a ladder was rested. Upon the ladder 
 tlie men went to and fro. Upon the plane, coflfins were hauled up and down. 
 At first the firemen lifted the bodies from the debris, after having carefully 
 (lug around them and loosened them, and ten minutes was consumed in ex- 
 huming each body. But as it became apparent that there were scores and 
 scores of human remains, and that a day, and perhaps a night, would end 
 before the last corpse was taken out, less tender means were used in the oper- 
 ation, and the work assumed a more earnest and energetic character. Instead 
 of five men, ten men set at work among the ruins, while on the vestibule plat- 
 form a dozen sturdy firemen manned the short ropes by which the coffins, 
 laden with human remains, were drawn up and dragged to the sidewalk. All 
 Uie bodies were bent into horrid shapes, assumed in the struggles of death by 
 suffocation and by burning. Nine out of ten of the corpses had an arm up- 
 raised and bent to shield the face. Something was missing from every one. 
 This one lacked a head or a foot, this a nose, an ear, or a hand, another its 
 fingers or the crown of the skull. Very many broken limbs and protruding 
 bones were found, and there were gashes in the upturned faces or fractures 
 in the smooth-burned skulls, so that each corpse as it was dragged into the 
 light was a new revelation of ghastliness. A few lusty pulls disengaged each 
 body. Two or three men seized its stiffened limbs and pressed them into a 
 coffin, a pair of sharp-pointed tongs clutched the coffin, and the firemen over- 
 
26 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 liead dragged it even with the street, where a cloth was thrown over tlie 
 coffin, and it was dragged to the dead-wagons, which kept coming and going 
 all day long. 
 
 Opera glasses, chains, studs, purses, and even watches were found under 
 and on the bodies, and were thrown to one side upon a spread-out newspaper. 
 Opposite the main entrance at the rear of the theatre other firemen and po- 
 lice officers delved in the ashes and brought forth corpse after corpse to be 
 boxed and carried away to the Morgue, with the same rapidity as at the 
 other door. At four o'clock, when a hundred and forty-seven bodies had 
 been exhumed on the Washington street side, fifty-three had been carrieel 
 from the alley-way in the rear. Moving among the firemen, either as spec- 
 tators or supervisors of the ghastly work, were Chief Engineer Nevins, Police 
 Commissioner Hurd, Fire Commissioner McLaughlin, Assistant Engineer 
 Farley, and ex-Police Superintendent Folk. 
 
 Surrounding the ruins, in Washington, Johnson and Adams streets, were 
 throngs of people who stood close together on the sidewalks and left only 
 room enough for one vehicle at a time to traverse the roadways. The dead 
 wagons continually passing and repassing, kept this passage way clear, and 
 were themselves the objects of the most interest. During the entire day there 
 were continual quarrels between the police officers and the over-curious peo- 
 ple. Pickpockets — nearly all boys — were numerous, and were brought into 
 the First Precinct station two at a time. In the station were coats, and hats, 
 canes, shawls, bundles, valises filled with costumes, and numerous other articles 
 taken from the ruins of the theatre. 
 
 When the first wagon, laden with the dead from the fire, halted in front of 
 the Morgue, the gathering pressed forward and crushed its way between the 
 wagon and the doorway. The police officers appealed to the people to be calm, 
 and at length the bodies were taken into the building. 
 
 Daylight had not set in when the arrival of the dead bodies was announced. 
 It was thought at first that the first was the remains of a young woman, but 
 a vest displaying a watch and chain was revealed. About nine o'clock the 
 second body, that of a young man whose hands were clasped, and who wore a 
 plain silver ring and a gutta percha ring, was received. Nicholas Kieley's 
 remains were next, and the Rev. Father Kieley, who wept as though his heart 
 was broken, recognized his brother. 
 
 Upon the body of the fourth corpse was a gold open-faced watch, to which 
 was attached a thin gold chain. On the back of the watch was the words, 
 "A mother's gift." The fifth body was that of a stalwart man, whose hands 
 were fixed over his face. Then there was a negro whose features were beyond 
 recognition. Following was a body whose head had been nearly consumed, 
 and next one whose arms had been burned away. On this man was a bright 
 gold collar button. Then there were the remains of a young woman. The 
 limbs were drawn up, the body was twisted, and the features could not be 
 recognized. 
 
 The remains of a boy about fourteen years of age were next carried in. A man 
 with a checked shirt was put at his side. The bodies of three young boys and 
 three girls were next received. On one of the bodies was a hunting-case siivej* 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 27 
 
 watch, 76,744, with a gold chain and a piece of the Hell Gate telegraphic wire 
 as a charm. The timepiece was in good order and marked the correct time. 
 
 Before 3 o'clock seventy-eight bodies were strewn about in the Morgue, and 
 a long line of men and women were constantly passing in and out of the build- 
 ing. Nearly every person jiad permits from the Coroner's office, and the women 
 visitors were in the majority. 
 
 A most shameful and vulgar feature of the inroad upon the Morgue was the 
 vast number of women who, through mere curiosity, insisted upon entering th« 
 building. Women who were naturally nervous and hysterical forced their 
 way in and risked good clothing and head dress in their wild attempts to 
 hover over the bodies. They began to sob and gesticulate long before they 
 reached the hallway in which twenty-three blackened corpses were in line on 
 the marble floor. 
 
 When the women reached this scene they shrieked as though bereft of all 
 their kindred, but the majority of them were forced to admit that they knew 
 no one among the dead. Occasionally some agonized mother or wife recog- 
 nized the charred remains of a loved one, and the woman wept as only a 
 woman can weep. 
 
 Keeper McGuire, who has witnessed much sorrow in his place, and who is 
 supposed to have a heart of adamant, wiped tears from his eyes, and then 
 tried to excuse himself by saying : " This is too much. I am almost un- 
 nerved." 
 
 Occasionally some plain, methodical person entered, and, through close 
 searching, discovered one who was known to him. In a business-like way the 
 discoverer pinned a card or a slip of paper, bearing the man's name, to what 
 remained of the clothing. Young and giddy girls, who should have been 
 chastised for their impudence, flaunted themselves in the presence of distressed 
 visitors, and seemed to enjoy their trip through the Morgue, 
 
 On each side of the building is a yard, and there are many windows. Small 
 boys and stalwart men peered through these windows and indulged in expres- 
 sions that were unseemly. This outside rabble became so unruly that au 
 additional force of police was called upon to prevent a crush into the building. 
 
 None of the bodies were put on the slabs. All were on the flooring. The 
 faces were so blackened by the fire that they could not be recognized, and it 
 was only through clothing or jewelry that any were identified. The under- 
 takers of Brooklyn combined together and volunteered their services in behalf 
 of the sorrow-stricken families. They were of very great assistance to the 
 police in preventing professional mourners from robbing the dead. One woman 
 recognized her brother when she discovered a stud in his shirt bosom. Another 
 woman, with a small piece of cloth and a piece of shirt bosom, identified her 
 husband, and saying, " He has $100 in his pockets," put her hand in his vest 
 pocket and took therefrom that amount. 
 
 The arms of nearly all the dead were fixed as though shielding their faces, 
 and one woman had drawn her clothing over her face and clinched her hands 
 above her forehead. Two young men were grappled together as though they 
 had had a personal encounter in an attempt to escape from the theatre. Others 
 lay on their sides in the manner of persons who thus slumber. Their watch 
 
28 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 chaius and other jewelry were beautifully bright, and the clothing of all was 
 blackened through the fire. 
 
 In only about one-third of the cases were the limbs exposed through the 
 torn and burned clothing. Uplifted hands, whose fingers were shining bones, 
 bore golden rings, and shoeless feet glistened in their whiteness. The hair and 
 whiskers were gone, and faces were terribly scarred. A few of the bodies were 
 burned to a crisp, and these were put into rough pine boxes, and all hope for 
 their identification was given up. 
 
 Until late in the afternoon, men, women, and children flocked to the Wash- 
 iiigton street station to tell of fathers, husbands, brothers, and children who 
 had not returned to their homes since the evening previous. Hour by hour 
 the list of missing persons increased in numbers until it comprised nearly 200 
 names. All who made inquiry for friends or relatives were necessarily 
 disappointed, for the blackened, charred bodies were few of them in a condition 
 to be identified. Strong men, who had kept up both heart and hope, broke 
 down and sobbed like women when they learned their own flesh and blood 
 might never be discovered from out of the scores of shapeless trunks that were 
 being exhumed from the ruins. Women came in sobbing and went away 
 convulsed with grief. The policemen themselves often surrendered their forced 
 self-possession and sobbed aloud. 
 
 In the evening the work was continued by the aid of calcium lights. It 
 Avas thought best to discontinue the removal of the bodies from the rear 
 through Theatre alley to Myrtle avenue. Sixty-seven in all had been taken 
 out that way. The main entrance, with the ghastly burdens still regularly 
 coming out of it, was thrown into bold relief- The burner and lantern had 
 l>een knocked off the street lamp over the way, and a great flame of gas 
 blazed and flared into the air, lighting up the scorched and splintered door- 
 way and the upturned faces of the throng. A calcium light on the sidewalk 
 near the door illumined the corridor to the point where the floor had broken, 
 and there another was fixed whose rays shone directly into the deep pit in 
 which the earlier search had discovered the horrible mass of charred human 
 l)odies. 
 
 This pit was the cellar of the main corridor, and its ruins were separated 
 from the debris in the auditorium by the strong foundation wall that had 
 borne the gallery cokimns. It was not until nine o'clock that this cellar, 
 about twelve feet wide, and running through to the foundation wall on the 
 alley side, was cleared. Over one hundred and fifty bodies had been re- 
 moved from it. 
 
 Toward the rear fewer were found, and those were evidently not from the 
 gallery, as fragments of kid gloves could be seen on the fingers of the black- 
 ened hands, some of which still clutched opera-glasses. These bodies were 
 more thoroughly calcined than those first found, and not unfrequeutly the 
 firemen were able to put two or three into one box. 
 
 After dark the orders against admitting outsiders to the ruins were more 
 
 strictly enforced. Among those admitted was the foreman of the Grand 
 
 Jury, W. W. Shumway. A calcium light from the alley wall shone over 
 
 • the ruins of the auditorium, and here the fii-eraen began work shortly after 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 29 
 
 nine o'clock. In addition to the lime light, oil lamps with reflectors and lan- 
 terns were used. 
 
 In this fitful glare the firemen, their faces pallid from fatigue and hunger, 
 toiled on without a word. The first body found in the auditorium was on the 
 Theatre alley side. Its position indicjites that the victim had reached a 
 window when he was struck down. 
 
 iSome friends of Mr. Murdoch were very anxious that an early effort should 
 be made to recover his body. His mother was expected to arrive in the city. 
 during the evening, he having sent for her a few days before. About nine^ 
 o'clock a stream of water was put upon the ruins in the northeast corner to 
 cool the immense pile of bricks under which the body was thought to lie. 
 
 The firemen were greatly impeded by the clouds of steam. They made 
 their way from the southern end toward the stage. The broken wall lay in 
 great lumps of brick and mortar. About halfway toward the stage shapeless 
 human flesh was found crushed between two huge masses which had protected 
 it from the flames that had consumed all the rest of the body. It was long 
 before the bricks could be sufficiently cooled to admit the removal of this 
 fragment. It was feared all the bodies in this part of the ruins had bee!i 
 pimilarly or more thoroughly consumed, owing to the intense heat from the 
 inflammable stage fixtures. 
 
 The interior of the Adams Street Market presented at night a weirdly 
 horrible sight. Disuse had made the place grimy. The gas fixtures had 
 been removed, and candle light had to be used. The bodies were in rows 
 that reached the entii-e length of the long apartment. On the bi-east. 
 of each was a lighted candle held in a small block of wood. Candles 
 were also stuck on the hooks that had once been used to hang meat on, and 
 lanterns helped to illuminate the spacious place ; but the combined light was 
 not sufficient to rid the corners of dark shadows. The bodies were in strained 
 shapes, as though death had stopped them in a writhing struggle. Their 
 arms were raised to their faces in most instances, the gesture suggesting suftb- 
 cation or warding off heat. The charring made them appalling to look at. 
 At an old counter officers added to lists the names of the few who were from 
 time to time identified. 
 
 Articles taken from the bodies were in a basket, enveloped and numbered, 
 and corresponding numbers were written on slips of paper and pinned to the 
 rags that still clung to the corpses. Men and women passed from body to 
 body, seeking friends or relatives, examining the bits of clothing, holding, 
 the candles close to the blackened faces, and looking for scars or other marks 
 that might make recognition' possible. They were wonderfully composed In 
 manner, the only outbreaks of feeling being when a search was successful, an<l 
 that was very rare. They were in the main of the poor class, such as occupy 
 the galleries of theatres. They were persistent in their sad task, going 
 along the rows of ill-shapen remains without missing a thing that promised 
 identification. In several instances importunate appeals were made for per- 
 mission to remove recognized remains, but the coroners decided not to grant 
 that privilege until the next day. 
 
 On the next morning (December 7th) the confusion was less at the scene 
 
30 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 o-f the awful catastrophe, but the solemn gloom was deeper than before, the 
 excitement was nearly as great, and the under-currents of sympathy more in- 
 tense. There was a gloom in Brooklyn which could be felt even in the streets. 
 There was but one topic of conversation. Men, women, and children thought 
 and talked »f little else than the Brooklyn Theatre and the burned dead be- 
 neath it ruins. On the sidewalks, in the street-cars, on the ferry-boats, there 
 was one and the same subject of interest. In the neighborhood of the theatre 
 itself the excitement was at its height. But there was little to be seen that 
 could either stimulate or gratify curiosity. Two or three undertakers' wagons 
 with the ugly coffins from the dead-house, were in attendance, but the unin- 
 terrupted procession of corpses, which was so horrible a feature of the scene 
 on Wednesday, ended late at night, and on this morning there was nothing to 
 see save the smouldering ruins of the theatre. There was only the great void 
 where the theatre had stood, a mere rim of crumbling walls, scarcely breast 
 high, enclosing immense heaps of brick and rubbish, from which columns 
 of steam arose in the air. 
 
 A surging mass of people occupied the sidewalk in front of the deadhouse, 
 and stretched into the middle of the street, and men and boys clambered upon 
 fences and wagons in the neighborhood, and gazed intently at the blank walls 
 of the building. Policemen guarded the main entrance and the iron gate- 
 way before it. No permits for admission were demanded of those persons who 
 could satisfy the officers that they had lost friends or relatives by the fire. 
 They were allowed to enter from time to time, passing in the front door and 
 through the room on the right-hand, which contained about thirty bodies, 
 lying on the floor, none of them identified ; so, through a smaller room at the 
 further end of the building, back to the left-hand room, in which some of the 
 corpses were lying upon marble slabs and tables in the centre. Upon such 
 bits of clothing as remained upon the bodies, numbers, written hastily with 
 lead-pencils on bits of paper, had been pinned ; and where a body had been 
 recognized, the name and address were added to the number. Then, upon re- 
 ceipt of the coroner's permission, the corpse was placed in a plain deal coffin 
 and sent to the address given by the persons who had claimed it. 
 
 On Friday morning (December 8th) the work of removing and examining 
 the ruins was suspended, it being deemed unsafe to proceed any further while 
 the walls remained in such an unsafe position. The dangerous parts of the 
 walls were, however, braced, and the firemen resumed their labors in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 During Friday night and early Saturday morning a large number of 
 small pieces of bodies, and several heads, were discovered, and the trunk of a 
 body which was identified as that of Mr. Murdoch. The remains were taken 
 in charge by an undertaker. 
 
 Many of the bodies were so mangled and charred that it was impossible to 
 identify them, and it was determined by the Board of Aldermen to bury these 
 at the public expense. The scenes at the Morgue and the oKl market on 
 Saturday morning were, if possible, more heart-rending and horrible than 
 anything that had occurred in those places since the burning of the theatre. 
 The undertakers' wagons rattled up to the door of the old market by dozens, 
 
Identifying the Bodies in the Morgue. 
 3;t>fntiftjiru«9 ter ?dd)cn in ter Morgue. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 33 
 
 and the coffins of stained and polished wood, studded witli silver nails, were 
 ranged in rows on the market floor, beside the black, gnarled things that 
 had been human bodies. Outside a motley crowd of men, women, and boys 
 pressed close to the doors and tried to get past the police lines in order to 
 witness the work of putting the stiffened and distorted bodies into tho narrow 
 <!of?in3. Wandering among the ghastly rows was the usual throng of sighfc- 
 »ecrs and mourners searching for friends. 
 
 Soon after one o'clock the last coffin was taken from the old market, and 
 the driver who carried it hurried away after the others. The crowd around 
 the door took a last glance at the blackened floors inside, as though the 
 horrible place had fascinated them, and then chased the wagons and carriages 
 that were going to join the procession. 
 
 The Funeral. 
 
 At a quarter before two o'clock the gleam of bayonets appeared in Scher- 
 nierhorn street, and the winds bore fitfully the strains of a dirge played by a 
 military band. The head of the procession was neariug the point of estab- 
 lishment of the right of the line. At Flatbush avenue it halted for ten 
 minutes only, while the disposition of the various parts of the procession was 
 perfected. The Twenty-third Regiment, that liad marched up in hollow square 
 formatioQ, opened and rested at an " order arms," while the Forty-seventh 
 Regiment passed through and took the right of the line, beaded by its 
 splendid band. Then the hearses and undertakers' wagons were broken from 
 single to double column, and the Twenty-third Regiment was placed as a 
 guard of honor, surrounding this portion of the mournful cortege. The other 
 necessary dispositions were (jtiickly effected, and then the march was resumed, 
 v.ith the procession in the following order; 
 
 Squad of Mounted Police — Sergeant Johnson. 
 
 Ajcjerman Fisher and Supervisor Quimby of Committees — in carriage. 
 
 -'"^r'"-' Forty-seventh Regiment Band. 
 
 Forty-seventh Regiment. 
 
 Detachment Fourteenth Regiment, without arms. 
 
 Gatling Battery, without piece. 
 
 Couterno's Band. 
 
 Twenty-third Regiment as Guard of Honor, leading and flanking first hearses. 
 
 Hearses — Seventeen. 
 
 Forty-five Undertakers' Wagons, with from one to four coffins each. 
 
 Carriages with Relatives and Friends. 
 
 Carriages with Ministers and Officials. 
 
 Thirteenth Regiment and Drum Corps. 
 
 Near Bergen street the dirge which the band had been playing up to tnat 
 point ceased, and the roll of twenty-four muffied tenor drums marked the time 
 for the steps of the military. Solemnly impressive as had been the music of 
 the band it seemed infinitely less eflTective than the roll of the drums. The 
 former had the color of melody, even though full of sadness, but the latter 
 impressed itself on the heart as a monotone of sobs. The air grew heavier with 
 the weight of those measured pulsations of half-voiced grief Along both side- 
 3 
 
34 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 walks moved steadily, keeping step with the procession, a silent multitude. 
 There was no hurrying, no conversation to beguile the weary way ; only a 
 sullen resistance to the frenzy of the gale. 
 
 The drums ceased, and from the military band wailed forth another dirge 
 more weirdly sad than that first played. A trembling, thrilling cry, as of a 
 stricken soul, voiced by a single cornet, awoke, a harmonic wail, in hearing 
 which, one could not repress a shudder. Again the music ceased, and the 
 terrible roll of the muffled drums began, mingled with theshriekingsof the storm. 
 
 The march was a terrible one, for its oppressive gloom, the deadly cold, the 
 grief on every hand ; but that portion from Sixth avenue to the gate of Green- 
 wood Cemetery was in all respects the worst. All that way the roll of the 
 muffled drums continued, and across the wide vacant spaces toward the bay 
 the icy blast seemed the breath of death itself 
 
 Battle Hill, where the arrangements for the interment of the bodies in one 
 common grave had already been made, is the highest point of ground in the 
 cemetery, and is situated but a short distance from the gate by which the pro- 
 cession entered. Here a circular trench had been cut, seven feet deep and 
 thirteen feet wide, nearly surrounding a round sodded space ten feet in dia- 
 JTieter, upon which the projected monument is to stand. 
 
 It soon became evident that human endurance would be insufficient to bear 
 -any protraction of the obsequies. With wonderful fortitude, not less than 
 2,000 persons maintained their places about the enormous grave, held as if by 
 a hideous fascination. But all were suffering intensely from cold, and it was 
 determined by those in charge to make the services as brief as possible. 
 
 The Rev. John Parker read the Protestant Episcopal burial service. The 
 Rev. Dr. Putnam, instead of the extended funeral oration which he had 
 prepared for the occasion, announced that the extreme cold would preclude 
 the possibility of its delivery, and merely said a few brief words on the 
 uncertainty of life and the blessed hopes of immortality. Then the benedic- 
 tion was pronounced by the Rev. Mr. Odell, and the ceremony concluded 
 with the singing by the Germania choir of Kuhlau's beautiful choral, " Above 
 all summits there is repose." 
 
 Besides the public funeral, many private ones, of persons who had been 
 identified by friends, took place on Saturday, Sunday and Monday. 
 
 The bodies of the actors Murdoch and Burroughs were taken to Irving 
 Hall at 1 o'clock on Saturday, and remained in state until the funeral on 
 Sunday. 
 
 Great festoons of crape hung in long curves from a common ceutre in the 
 middle of the room reaching to the galleries, that were draped in funeral 
 cloth. Each end of the hall bore its burden of black. Two circles of gas in 
 the ceiling cast a melancholy radiance. The bodies were encased in two 
 rosewood coffins mounted with silver, which were placed in the centre of the 
 room. The coffing*severally bore the inscriptions : 
 
 CLAUDE DE BLENAU BURROUGHS, 
 Born Aug. 12, 1848; died Dec. 5, 1876. 
 
 HENRY S. HITCHCOCK, 
 Died Dec. 6, 1876, agod 31. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 35 
 
 Crosses and wreaths, the gifts of friends, covered the lid of each. At their 
 head was placed a stand containing a large scroll of white flowers with the 
 word " Arcadian " in violet, the tribute of the members of the former club of 
 that name. There was also a rich offering from the Order of Elks, with the 
 mystic initials of the order predominant. As soon as the bodies were placed 
 iu position friends began to pass by the coffins. They continued to do so in 
 the afternoon and evening. During the night the bodies were watched by a 
 committee, the members of which relieved each other at intervals. 
 
 The funeral services were held in the Church of the Transfiguration, better 
 known as " The Little Church Around the Corner." The services were very 
 ^npressive, and the attendance was very large. Dr. Houghton conducted. 
 The remains of Mr. Burroughs were placed in the receiving vault of the 
 Second Street Cemetery, and those of Mr. Murdocli were taken to Philadel- 
 phia, and buried on Monday in Woodland Cemetery, the funeral services 
 being conducted in St. Peter's P. E. Church. 
 
 Mr. Murdoch's Career on the Stage. 
 
 Mr. Henry S. Murdoch, one of the victims of the terrible calamity, was 
 engaged iu the caste of the " Two Orphans " as Pierre, the cripple, and was 
 the sole support of a widowed mother and two sisters, who reside in Philadel- 
 phia. The latter were expected in Brooklyn next week to visit their brother 
 during the Christmas holidays. Mr. Murdoch was born in Boston, August 
 5, 1845, and was consequently in the thirty-second year of his age. He re- 
 ceived his education in Philadelphia, and made his debut at the Arch Street 
 Theatre, in that city, in the winter of 1864. During the season of 1865 he 
 fulfilled an engagement at the Boston ]\Iuseum, and from there he went to 
 Cincinnati, where he performed at Pike's Opera-house until its destruction by 
 fire on March 22, 1866. In this case he narrowly escaped with his life, and 
 lost his entire wardrobe in the fire. He next went to San Francisco, where 
 he played with John McCullough at the California Theatre. He remained 
 there two years — 1867-8, He then performed short engagements in Wash- 
 ington, Baltimore, St. Louis and Pittsburgh. In 1872-3 he played at the 
 Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, under the management of Mrs. John 
 Drew, taking the parts of" fop " and " walking gentleman," and upon one or 
 two occasions played leading characters. The season of 1873-4 he spent in 
 Chicago, and acted at Hooley's Theatre, under the management of Mr. Fred 
 Williams, of Boston. He resigned his position before the close of the season 
 to support Miss Clara Morris at the Academy of Music in the same city, then 
 under the management of Mr. C. R. Gardner, who is now the manager of the 
 Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, where Mr. Murdoch made his debut. 
 During his engagement with Miss Morris he made a decided hit as Armande, 
 in the play of " Camille." At the conclusion of his engagement in Chicago 
 he returned to Boston, where he remained one season, and commenced his en- 
 gagement with Messrs. Shook & Palmer last spring, when he played the part 
 of Sandy Morton, in the play of " Two Men of Sandy Bar," at the Union 
 Square Theatre, New York. From there he went to the Brooklyn Theatre 
 on October 9 last. Mr. Murdoch was a nephew of Mr. James E. Murdoch, 
 
36 BUKKING OF THE BKCOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 the eminent tragedian, and a brother of Frank Murdoch, the author of " Davy 
 Crockett." He has a brother in New Orleans also an actor, whose stage 
 name is William Wallace, and who lately made his debut in that city. Mr, 
 Murdoch was an accomplished and educated gentleman, and a rising actor. 
 During his engagement in Boston he played such characters as Charles Mid- 
 dlewick, in the play of" Our Boys," and Harry Spreadbrow, in " Sweethearts." 
 He gave much satisfaction in Brooklyn in his interpretation of Eustace, in 
 "Conscience," Charles Surface, in "School for Scandal," and was giving an 
 exceptionally good rendition o^ Pierre, the cripple, in the " Two Orphans," at 
 the time of the fire. He was a good vocalist and amateur artist. He had 
 been suffering from sciatica for some time, and the malady had given him 
 considerable pain during the six weeks previous to his tragic death, causing 
 liim to limp painfully at times. He occupied apartments at No. 53 Concord 
 street, where his uncle, Mr. Henry Murdoch, resides. 
 
 Claude Burroughs. 
 
 Claude Burroughs first made his appearance on the stage at the Winter 
 Garden, New York, in 1865, playing in " Hamlet " with Edwin Booth. At 
 the conclusion of his engagement with Mr. Stuart, who was then managing 
 the Winter Garden, he went to Brooklyn, where he played light comedy 
 parts in the Park Theatre, then under Mrs. Conway's management. Upon 
 the opening of the Union Square Theatre by Messrs. Shook & Palmer ISIr. 
 Burroughs was engaged to play light parts. His first appearance at that 
 theatre was as a reporter in "Agnes," the first piece produced in the house, 
 and he has been in the caste of nearly every play since produced there. 
 Upon a few occasions when not playing in New York he has accepted engage- 
 ments in Brooklyn. He was the fop in " Atherley Court," the fop in "Jane 
 Eyre," Maxime in " Ferreol," and a very clever representative of Talbot 
 Champneys in " Our Boys." At the time of his death he was playing Ficard, 
 the valet in the " Two Orphans." Since the opening of the St. Stephen's 
 Hotel, in Eleventh street, in October, Mr. Burroughs has lived there. He 
 had a delightful summer residence at Larchmont, on the New Haven Road, 
 where he was wont to entertain his numerous friends. He was about twenty- 
 six years of age and unmarried. 
 
 Sketches of other Victims. 
 
 Stuart Campbell Hand, a young reporter on the staff" of the Commercial 
 Advertiser of New York, is among the victims of the calamity. He is known 
 to have visited the theatre on the night of the fire, and has not been seen 
 since. He was only eighteen years old, 
 
 William L. Donnelly, another young reporter, left his home on the even- 
 ing of the fire to visit the theatre, and was never seen alive again. He had 
 just returned to New York from a journalistic trip to the West. Among the 
 charred remains his stepfather felt assured he had discovered poor Donnelly's 
 body, identifying it by several articles of clothing ; but as these articles were 
 partly divided between two crisped trunks his mother declined to acquiesce in 
 the identification, for fear of receiving the wrong body. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 37 
 
 Mrs, Caroline Berri and her mother, Mrs. Martin, were undoubtedly 
 trampled upon by the panic-stricken audience, and then fell victims to the 
 flames. Mrs, Berri was the wife of officer Richard Berri, of District-Attor- 
 ney Brittou's office. He accoiiipauied her and Mrs. Martin to tlie theatre; 
 but when the cry of fire rang through the house, and the audience became 
 uncontrollable, he was standing in the vestibule. He tried to push into the 
 theatre to rescue his relatives, but was carried by the rushing crowd out into 
 the street. His wife and her mother undoubtedly perished together. 
 
 Officer Patrick McKean. of the Central Office Squad, who was detailed to 
 preserve order in the gallery of the theatre, is among the dead. He was a good 
 officer, and had been made a member of the Central Squad for his exemplary 
 conduct. He was seen working bravely in the vestibule of the theatre, try- 
 ing to get the panic-stricken people to move out in an orderly manner. Just 
 before the fatal blast of smoke and gas filled the entire building it was 
 noticed that he was exhausted by his hard labors ; that he had lost his hat, 
 and that his coat was torn from him by the surging crowd. It is supposed 
 that he was precipitated, when the flooring gave wa}^ into the horrible pit 
 from which so many dead were taken on Wednesday. Officer McKean waiS 
 a young man — about thirty years of age, and the support of a widowed 
 mother. 
 
 John McGinniss, an old employee of the Brooklyn Eagle, was among the 
 killed, with two lady friends whom he had escorted to the theatre. He was 
 about thirty-five years old, and was well known in Brooklyn. It is likely 
 that he bravely remained with his lady friends until the last. He was an old 
 fireman of the former volunteer department, accustomed to battling with 
 flames, cool-headed, and rapid in decision, and if he had been alone would 
 undoubtedly have found means of escape. 
 
 The body of Nicholas F. Kelly, aged twenty-two, was taken out of the 
 theatre early Wednesday morning. As it was being placed in an under- 
 taker's wagon a young man standing by glanced at the corpse, and after 
 saying, " My God, that's Father Kelly's brother," fainted away. The body 
 was afterward identified by Father Kelly himself, who is the pastor of 'the 
 Church of the Visitation, and one of the best-loved and most eloquent priests 
 in Brooklyn. 
 
 Almost Incredible. ,"' -I 
 
 ■;•; i J' > ' '-'.■' fi 
 The following story would be deemed almost incredible were It not vouched 
 for by Police Captain Worth. Mr. Hecht, of 431 Pulaski street, a wealthy 
 merchant, identified the remains of his son, Louis, eighteen years old, by the 
 gold watch and gold chain and seal-skin hat found on the remains. As he 
 stood stricken with grief over the charred corpse, two men jostled hira aside, 
 and, with many exclamations of sorrow and grief, claimed the body as that 
 of their relative, and looked about for means to remove it. When the griefr 
 stricken parent recovered from the shock their positive identification gave 
 him, he again examined the body, and satisfying himself that they were those 
 of his, son, he directed their attention to the marks and signs by which he 
 declared it impossible for him to be mistaken. The men passed away. They, 
 
38 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 however, were followed by others. To these the father again rehearsed his 
 Btory of identification. " I thought," said Mr. Hecht, speaking to Coroner 
 Nolan, " that the people were mistaken in the identification of the remains, 
 but when over half a dozen people, whom I saw by their actions had no one 
 among the unfortunates, came along, and with pretended cries of grief pointed 
 out the body as that of some relative, I knew that it was done for the sake of 
 obtaining possession of the valuables." 
 
 Mr. Hecht, before seeking out the coroner to obtain a permit for the re- 
 moval of the body, placed his son, the dead boy's brother, guard over the 
 remains. The coroner at once made all the necessary arrangements to offset 
 the work of these fiends. 
 
 The History of the Brooklyn Theatre. 
 
 In 1871 a building association, composed in chief of "NVra. C. Kingsley, 
 Alexander McCue, and Abner C. Keeney, erected for Mrs. F. B. Conway the 
 edifice then known as " Mrs. Conway's Brooklyn Theatre." Under her man- 
 agement the first season opened on the evening ot October 2d, 1871, the play 
 being Bulwer's comedy of " Money," with Mr. and Mrs. Conway, Edward 
 Lamb, Mrs. Farren, and others in the cast. Until 1875, with varying success, 
 Mrs. Conway kept the theatre open, introducing her daughters, Minnie (now 
 Mrs. Levy) and Lilian, Mr. Roche, Mr. Lamb, Mr. Chippendale, Mrs. Farren 
 and others, in the regular company, and playing as occasional stars, Booth, 
 Raymond, Jefferson, Sothern, the Florences, the Williamses, and Charlotte 
 Thompson. At her death the daughters continued the lease, making their 
 managerial debut in "The Two Orphans." The house was packed, and when 
 Henriette said to the blind Louise, " Don't say so, dear sister ; we are not 
 Avithout friends, I hope," the audience rose as with a single impulse, and for 
 five minutes stopped the action of the play by demonstrations as wild as they 
 were encouraging. It soon became evident, however, that the Conway element 
 could not make the theatre a success, and a lease was issued to Sheridan 
 Sh<3ok and A. M. Palmer, of the New York Union Square Theatre. Under 
 their management as a star and stock theatre it soon became a popular resort. 
 But perhaps the greatest success the theatre has known was the " Two 
 Orphans," the strongest play of the century, which ran hundreds of nights in 
 New York, and with almost equal favor was played in Brooklyn. 
 
 The conveniences in the auditorium of the Brooklyn Theatre were admirably 
 arranged for ingress and comfort, but for egress and safety they were like 
 those of every other theatre. The outer entrance was shut off from the street 
 by three doors. Two of these opened on to a corridor, on the left of which was 
 the box office, and at the further end the ticket-taker's stand, with movable 
 doors, kept shut until a few moments before the close of the performance. An 
 orderly and an unexcited audience would have no difficulty in getting out, 
 for there were two large doors opening from the first circle on to the corridor, 
 which in turn led to the movable doors referred to. The third door at the 
 front entrance opened on a short and narrow hall, on one side of which was 
 the party wall, and on the other a high iron partition. From this hall one 
 
"My God! if the Door should be locked." 
 „9Kein ®ott! mnn bie Zi^ux ^erfci)loffeu mve," 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 41 
 
 long flight of narrow stairs led, two stories up, to the gallery. At all times the 
 exodus of the gallery boys, in all theatres, is noisy and turbulent, but on an 
 occasion like tliis no words could picture the rush. Critical examination of 
 the places of exit from the lower sections of the theatre affords no ground for 
 censure of the architect, but the gallery exit couldn't by any ingenuity be 
 worse. Under ordinary circumstances five minutes' time would amply suffice 
 to empty the house, but when disorder and confusion reign no deduction can 
 be made, because the base of information is necessarily unreliable. 
 
 As far as experience and money could secure immunity from danger, the 
 Brooklyn Theatre was equal to the best appointed playhouses. Every gas jet 
 was shielded by gauze shades. No smoking was allowed in any of the rooms. 
 No matches were tolerated. No one but the gas man, Mr. Webster, was 
 permitted to light the gas. In the rear of the left hand proscenium box was 
 Mr. Thorpe's private office. It communicated with the box and also with the 
 auditorium. It was used this week by Mr. Thorne as a dressing room. Mrs. 
 Thorne was, as always, with him. On the other side of the stage, behind the 
 other box, was Fanny Morant's room. Instead of remaining till the close 
 of the piece, she left at the end of the fifth act. Above Thorpe's room was a 
 dressing room at the top of an exceedingly narrow stairway, Occupied by 
 Murdoch and Burroughs. 
 
 Other Memorable Disasters by Fire. 
 
 The disaster at the Brooklyn Theatre fiir surpasses in loss of life any accident 
 by fire in this country or Europe. Theatres have been frequently burned and 
 los.ses of life have not been uncommon, but the Brooklyn tragedy is altogether 
 unparalleled. The disaster at Richmond, Va., December 16, 1811, when 
 seventy persons were killed, has up to this time been known as the most 
 terrible of the class, but it is many times overshadowed by the Brooklyn fire. 
 
 The following are the principal theatres that have been burned in this 
 country, with loss of life : 
 
 National Theatre, Philadelphia, Ninth and Chestnut streets, July 6, 1854, 
 and an actor named Shepherd burned. 
 
 Fox's Theatre, Philadelphia, Walnut street, below Ninth, June 19, 1867. 
 None of the audience were injured, but ten firemen and five spectators were 
 killed by the falling of the fi'ont wall, and thirty persons were injured. 
 
 The following theatres were burned without loss of life : 
 
 Front street, Baltimore, Feb. 3, 1838; Melodeon, Pittsburg, 1865 ; Silbee's 
 Lyceum, Philadelphia, July 21, 1851; Gaiety, New Orleans, Nov. 7, 1854; 
 Adelphi, San Francisco, May, 1851 ; Sandford's Opera House, Philadelphia, 
 1851 ; Winter Garden, New York, March 23, 1867 ; Chestnut Street, Phila- 
 delphia, April 2, 1820; Columbia Museum, Boston, January 15, 1807; Park 
 Theatre, New York, 1848 ; City Museum, Philadelphia, Nov., 1868; Academy 
 of Music, New York, May 22, 1866 ; Butler's American Theatre, Fifth Avenue, 
 New York, January 1, 1872; Waverly, New York, 1872; Adelphi, Boston, 
 February 4, 1871 ; and theatres during the Chicago fire, Oct. 8 and 9, 1871 ; 
 Arch Street Opera House, March 20, 1872, and Barnura's Hippodrome, 
 ■December 24, 1872. 
 
42 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 Scenes and Incidents. 
 
 How true it is that it requires great events to bring out latent properties in 
 the minds of the every-day people one meets. Especially is this true of 
 woman. 
 
 " Oh, woman, in our hours of ease, 
 Inconstant, shy, and hard to please ; 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow 
 A ministering angel, thou." 
 
 Another of the many instances of such devotion as Scott hints at in these 
 lines was witnessed on that terrible night. While the fire was in progress, a 
 fireman near the entrance on Washington street saw a strange sight. An 
 undersized, delicate-looking woman came staggering out, carrying literally on 
 her back and shoulders a man 'weighing apparently a hundred and fifty 
 pounds. Thinking the man was hurt, assistance was offered. It appeared, 
 however, that the man (who was the father of the girl) was paralyzed on one 
 side, and that, fearing he would be unable to make his way out, his daughter 
 had lifted him up bodily and carried him from the parquet to the front 
 entrance. She desired no further help than the placing of him on a car, and 
 left the scene before his name could be ascertained. 
 
 A Terrible Moment of Suspense. 
 
 In one of those graphic narratives of her experience on the eventful night 
 that proved such a trying ordeal to her, and was yet borne with such high- 
 souled self-possession, Miss Kate Claxton relates one incident of intense in- 
 terest. * * * «' The back entrance was by this time a perfect hell of fire. 
 Miss Harrison, on my call, rushed from her room and darted by me into a 
 little subterranean passage, which led from the stage under the floor to the 
 box office in front of the house. No such passage exists in other theatres. 
 It was designed by Mrs. Conway when the theatre was built, so that she could 
 readily communicate with her treasurer. I rapidly followed Miss Harrison, 
 and it seemed as if the fire, swept by the draught, almost licked the clothes 
 from our backs as we entered the passage. As we fled through it I remem- 
 bered that it was closed at the other end by a door with a spring lock, and 
 was usually kept closed, one of the ushers carrying the key. As I reached 
 the flight of three or four steps leading up to the door my heart stood still, 
 and I hesitated to try it. I thought, 
 
 'My God. if it is toe tied I' 
 
 Outside of the door we could hear the roaring of the maddened multitude 
 struggling through the passage without. We must really have hesitated only 
 a flash, but it seemed to me that we stood there for hours. The door for- 
 tunately was open, and we were in a second inside the box office. With 
 the strength of despair we burst the door open against, the struggling throng, 
 and in an instant were in their midst. We had yet some distance to go ; th« 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 43 
 
 lire followed us fast, and there was still a crowd of excited people to pass 
 through. We got into the crowd and dashed along, heedless that now and 
 again we felt that we had trod upon a human being. Once I looked down 
 and saw a human face, horribly distorted and burned. Oh, my God! it 
 was a fearful sight. I shall never forget it. Afterward I saw the injure J 
 man taken out. He was horribly injured, and I think, must be dead. As 
 soon as we got into the street we dashed into the police station. There a gentle- 
 man loaned me his overcoat, and after a short stay in the station we walked 
 around home." 
 
 Escaping through the Grating. 
 
 William Kerr, of Hamden street, Brooklyn, says that he was in front of 
 the theatre when the fire broke out. He attempted to enter the theatre, but 
 was prevented, and stepping back to the street he heard a noise beneath the 
 sidewalk. The iron plate over the coal-hole was pushed up, and the head 
 and shoulders of a man appeared. He pulled the man to the sidewalk, and 
 he was followed by another man. He was then ordered off by the police. 
 The police clapped the plate back, and nothing is known of the fate of the 
 men who went back. 
 
 Mad Struggles for Life. 
 
 When the rush from the parquet was at its height a father and mother with 
 their child had made their way as far as the lobby, when the father, who 
 held the child in his arras, was knocked down by the crowd. The child fell 
 with its father, and its cries could be heard above all the din. The father 
 struggled to his feet, and as he arose with the child in his grasp, the blood 
 flowed from several gashes in his face and crimsoned his shirt. At the sight 
 of the blood the wife shrieked and immediately fainted, falling upon the 
 people directly in front of her. Two men who appeared to think less of 
 themselves than of others, lifted her up, and after a desperate struggle succeeded 
 in removing her to the street, thence to the police station, where she was 
 afterward joined by her husband and child. The man was found to have 
 been badly injured by being trampled upon, beside being cut about the face. 
 
 In another instance a wife became separated from her husband. The hus- 
 band had fidlen beneath the feet of the crowd, and his face was trampled into 
 an almost unrecognizable mass. The woman became frenzied and clutching 
 her hat tore it from her head. Few people paid any attention to her. Her 
 cries were heard on the street. 
 
 " Where is my husband ? " she shrieked. " Where is my husband ? Won't 
 some one find him for me? My God ! my God ! I shall go mad." 
 
 People thought 
 
 She Was Already Mad. 
 
 The nearly lifeless form of her husband was subsequently dragged frtm be- 
 neath the feet of the throng and borne into the police station. 
 
 A fashionably-dressed lady, who occupied a seat near the stage, was so com- 
 pletely overcome by terror that she sank to the floor, not in a faint, but out 
 of sheer fright. She was actually carried from the place by her attendant. 
 
44 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRK 
 
 A Family Almost Blotted Out 
 
 Samuel Solomon told the following sad story at the Morgue, the morni»g 
 after the fire : " Last uight my father, Morris Solomou, my brother Philip, his 
 Avife, Lena, aud ray two sisters, Mary and Deborah, went to the Brooklyn 
 Theatre, and occupied seats in the family circle. When the fire broke out 1 
 came up here. The theatre was then in flames. I could see uothing of my 
 relatives. I have remained here all uight, with the exception of goiug home 
 occasioually to see if they had returned. My mother is almost ci'azy, aud hrts 
 searched our neighborhood for them. Not the slightest trace of either ot 
 them has been found since they entered the theatre. I am told the staircase 
 gave way, and I am afraid they have been crushed to death and then burned." 
 The young man was much overcome by the sudden catastrophe which had 
 befallen his family, and shed tears as he recited the story. The missing mem- 
 bers of the Solomon family are Morris Solomon, aged 47 years, a cigar dealer 
 at Maiden lane, New York; Philip Solomon, a musician, aged 24; Lena 
 Solomon, his wife, aged 22; Mary Solomon, aged 23, and Deborah Solomon, 
 aged 20 years. 
 
 The (lumbers in the Theatre. 
 
 We have obtained from the returns of the Treasurer what we believe to 
 be a correct list of all who were in the theatre on the night of the fire as 
 spectators, and have also procured a full list of the employees. 
 
 In the dress circle 300 
 
 In the parquet 250 
 
 In the gallery 405 
 
 Actors and actresses 21 
 
 Supernumeraries 20 
 
 Scene shifters and the like 10 
 
 Orchestra 12 
 
 Dressers, ushers, check takers, etc., etc 22 
 
 In all about 1,040 
 
 Although it is generally presumed that places of amusement are more apt 
 to be crowded and more subject to fires than churches, history shows that 
 fires in churches have proved even more fatal to human life than all the 
 tiieatres that were ever burned. 
 
 On the 27th of May, 1875, a shocking catastrophe happened in the French 
 Catholic Church, at South Holyoke, Massachusetts, which in many respects 
 was much like that in Brooklyn. The vesper hymn was being sung, when a 
 caudle at the altar set fire to the drapei-ies surrounding the image of the 
 Virgin Mary. There were about seven hundred people present, of whom 
 those in the body of the church escaped without difficulty. But the flames 
 streamed upwards to the galleries and spread along them, while the crowd on 
 the staircase became a densely-packed, panic-stricken mass. Many were 
 killed or severely wounded in the crush, besides those who were overtaken by 
 the flames and burned to death. The whole thing lasted but twenty minutes, 
 and in that time over seventy lives were lost. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 45 
 
 One of the most terrible disasters of modern times, also strikingly similar 
 to this recent disaster, occurred in the Church of the Jesuits, at Santiago, ia 
 Chili, on the 8th of December, 1863. It was the last day of the celebration 
 of the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and the church had been elabo- 
 rately decorated for the performance of mass. 
 
 A gigantic image of the Virgin, in whose honor the celebration was held, 
 occupied a prominent position in the church, and all around pasteboard de- 
 vices and thickly intertwining draperies covered the masonry of the church 
 from floor to ceiling. Festoons led from pillar to pillar, and from the roof 
 and projecting arches hung twenty thousand paraffiue lamps. The women 
 of Santiago, who on these occasions go from church to church, had fdled the 
 {!hurch of the Jesuits. Three thousand persons, the greater number of whom' 
 were women and children, were present in this most venerable of Santiago's 
 churches, and even on the steps outside women knelt in prayer to the Virgin, 
 whose altar they were unable to reach. In the midst of the ceremony a 
 parafRne lamp burst, and the flames at once caught the draperies and festoons 
 surrounding it. Then from arch to arch and pillar to pillar the fire leaped, 
 the lines that held the lamps aloft being burned the burning parafHne was 
 emptied on the women below ; and, while these twenty thousand vessels of 
 flaming liquid were deluging the unfortunate women, the decorations above 
 carried the flames to the roof, which burned and crackled like a tinder-box. 
 
 A rush was made for the great centre door, and in a few minutes it was 
 hopelessly blocked, while only a few knew of the small door beyond the altar. 
 As women endeavored to escape through the crowd, others who were burning 
 clutched their dresses and cried in piteous tones for help, and clinging in 
 their agony communicated the flame that was consuming them to the persons 
 whom they had seized. Some women in their desperation divested them- 
 selves of their clothing, and a few succeeded in effecting their escape, but only 
 a few. Each moment increased the crowd and intensified the block at the 
 main door, and while it became more and more difficult to escape, the flames 
 were spreading on the floor, flying from one prostrate body to another, and 
 destroying the panic-stricken creatures by scores and hundreds, while the 
 church resounded with piteous cries for help and still more heartrending 
 shrieks of agony ; the vast roof now gave Avay, and came down with its blazing 
 beams and rafters, crushing and inundating the seething mass of tortured in- 
 dividuals beneath it. When the fire had burned itself out and workmen could 
 get at the ruins, two thousand corpses were carried out. 
 
 Relief for the Desfifute. 
 
 As soon as it was known that so many had perished in the flames, a 
 generous spirit of rivalry sprang up among the proprietors of places of amuse- 
 ment all over the country, as to whom should contribute the largest amount of 
 money for t»I«e relief of the survivors and those rendered destitute by the fire. 
 Individual actors also subscribed liberally, and a relief association was orr 
 ganized to receive and disburse the money thus contributed. Memorial 
 services were held in New York and Brooklyn the Sunday after the fire, and 
 
46 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 prominent clergymen all over the country selected the terrible catastrophe as 
 a theme for eloquent sermons. 
 
 Thrilling Account of the Daring Bravery and Wonderful Escape 
 from a Horrible Death of 
 
 CORNELIUS J. DALY AND MISS NETTIE MORGAN. 
 
 It is a fact greatly to the credit of all present in the terrible fire that but 
 one single case of selfish cowardice was displayed, either by the actors or the 
 udience. Great and noble deeds of daring, loving sacrifices, and humanita- 
 rian actions arc everywhere described. The daily newspapers have given 
 their readers many instances of true bravery displayed by men and women 
 holding prominent positions in the world, but it remains for the writer to be 
 the chronicler of a series of more daring acts and wonderful escapes, and the 
 historian of two people who passed through the ordeal of fire, one of whom 
 deserves a place high in the record of " brave men who did brave deeds." 
 
 The Hero and Heroine. 
 
 Cornelius J. Daly, the hero of this sketch, was of humble parentage. The 
 elder Daly, fully appreciating the disadvantages of his own position, early 
 determined that his only son should receive a superior education. 
 
 As a consequence, Cornelius — or, as he was more familiarly called. Conn — 
 was sent to school at an early age, and on his seventeenth birthday was in a 
 condition to fairly combat the world and achieve success. He was comely of 
 feature, athletic of frame, and intelligent of mind. He was the pride of his 
 old father and mother, and the admiration of all the friends of the family. ' 
 
 One day Conn returned to his humble home from school to find terror and 
 grief supplanting the usual greeting of joy and pleasure ; his father had been 
 brought home in a helpless condition, a victim of the dreaded paralysis. It 
 was evident, now that the head of the family had been incapacitated from 
 further labor, that Conn must do something toward their support. 
 
 Throwing to one side all his cherished ambitions and boyish hopes, Conn 
 left school and apprenticed himself in a large machine shop located in 
 Brooklyn. His wages at first were small, but being strong of limb and stout 
 of heart, backed by intelligence, he speedily progressed, and in less than two 
 years was promoted to the position of journeyman. His wages sufficed to 
 keep his father and mother in comparative comfort, but even this failed to 
 satisfy him. He yearned for something higher and nobler, and after working 
 a few months as a journeyman, he grew dissatisfied with his position. He 
 loved his old father and mother with all the ardor of his warm generous heart, 
 and he feared lest lack of means should compel him to abridge their enjoy- 
 ment of little luxuries he deemed necessary for their declining years. 
 
 Again, Conn was in love, but when he reflected over this last situation his 
 heart sank even lower than when contemplating bis pecuniary distress. It 
 
\ 
 
/ 
 
 Rescuing her paralyzed Father. 
 Grrcttunjj i(;re5 gic^tbruc^igen ^ater5. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 49 
 
 was the old, old story of honest, manly poverty, loving the daughter of proud 
 and pampered wealth. Conn was employed iu a large machine shop, owned 
 by a wealthy resident of Brooklyn. 
 
 It chanced one day that the proprietor's beautiful daughter, Nettie, visited 
 her father's establishment, and not finding him in the business office sought 
 him among the workmen. Mr. Morgan was in the act of giving Conn some 
 instructions in reference to a piece of work when the rich young beauty ap- 
 proached him, and with giilish impetuousness began questioning about the 
 to her wonderful mysteries of the tools and machinery about her. The in- 
 dulgent father, after mildly chiding her for thus venturing among the oil- 
 begrimed machinery, turned to Conn, who had stood awe-stricken before 
 the beautiful young girl, and said : 
 
 " Daily, this is my daughter. Miss Nettie. She desires to learn something 
 of the uses to which the machinery is applied. Show her around the shop." 
 
 At the sound of his employer's voice Conn recovered a portion of his senses, 
 and, blushing and bowing toward the radiant beauty, who flashed the bril- 
 liancy of her black eyes full upon him, muttered some incoherent response, and 
 waited for the young lady's commands. 
 
 Mr. Morgan walked away toward his oflSce, and Miss Nettie's manner to- 
 ward the young mechanic was so kind that his first confusion melted away 
 like snow before the summer sun, and in five minutes the beautiful heiress 
 and the hard-handed mechanic were chatting together with the familiarity of 
 old acquaintances. 
 
 Miss Morgan seemed determined to learn all the details of the business, and 
 Conn was only too j)leased to instruct her in the use and appliance of the 
 tools and machinery. 
 
 All pleasant things must some time have an ending, and the tour of the 
 ebpp was at last completed. It had taken them nearly two hours to go 
 through, however, and Conn would have been the happiest of mortals if he 
 could have had the privilege of being Miss Nettie's conductor and instructor 
 forever. 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Daly," murmured Miss Nettie, extending her aristocratic 
 hand, white as alabaster, toward our hero, when the inspection of the machin- 
 ery was at last completed. " Good-by. I am ever so much obliged to you." 
 
 It was, undoubtedly, very foolish and very improper, but when those dainty 
 fingers touched his palm Conn caught them up and, bending over, kissed the 
 little hand with the courtly grace of a cavalier. Miss Nettie blushed, but 
 did not seek to prevent this delicate homage, and with another " Good-by," 
 tripped away, while poor Conn's head whirled around more rapidly than did 
 the fly-wheel of the great engine. 
 
 This was the beginning, and all the remainder of that day and the next 
 and the next Conn saw nothing, could think of nothing but Miss Nettie Mor- 
 gan. He lost his appetite, grew moody, shunned companionship with his 
 fellow-workmen, and it is positively asserted that on more than one occasion 
 he secreted himself in the vicinity of the Morgan mansion to feast his eyes, if 
 possible, on the person of his lady-love idol. 
 
 Once he met her in the street. She was just stepping from her father's 
 4 
 
50 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 oarrifige, attired in silk and velvet, and poor Conn, in his ordinary work 
 clothes, was going from his dinner to the shop. His heart gave a great jump 
 when he saw her, and then his brain reeled and he felt sick and faint. Miss 
 Nettie turned to give some instructions to the coachman and her eyes fell 
 upon Conn. Instantly she stopped, and going toward hira a step, extended 
 her hand and said : 
 
 "Mr. Daly, don't you know me? Were you^oing by without speaking? 
 How have you been ? " 
 
 Again Conn experienced the electric thrill shot from those white taper fing- 
 ers, and once again his heart leaped so joyfully that it nearly choked him. He 
 contented himself this time with bowing very low, and pressing her hand 
 f' very slightly for just one blissful second. Then she passed into a store, and 
 
 Conn, with a dazed feeling of happiness, went on down the street. 
 
 But why linger over a description of this love feeling? All of us experi- 
 ence it at some time in our life, and I opine it is a glorious experience, and 
 marks an epoch in life. Conn's employer became cognizant of this state of 
 affairs. Angered at the " impudence " of the " beggar," as he contemptuously 
 termed our hero and his passion, he immediately discharged him, and thcii 
 Conn's worship of Miss Nettie assumed the most lowly type of idolatry. He 
 would have been content to do her humble service all his life, provided she 
 spoke kindly and extended her hand to him but once a year. He lingered 
 around her father's house at all hours now, day and night, and such persistent 
 and mysterious watching of one house made him an object of suspicion to the 
 police. He saw her very frequently, but at a distance. He felt sure that it 
 would always be at a distance he might worship her, but it was pleasant — '■ 
 nay, bliss supreme — to sometimes hug the delusive " might be," and build 
 brighter and airier castles. 
 
 A few days after his discharge Conn made the acquaintance of a represent- 
 ative of the Peruvian government, interested largely in the railroad develop- 
 ment of his country. The gentleman was at once impressed with the self- 
 reliant intelligence of our hero, and finding him conversant with the intricate 
 details of machine construction engaged hira at a munificent salary to super- 
 intend the locomotive and machine works of the Peruvian government, then 
 in process of erection at Valparaiso. 
 
 It was demanded by his new employer that he proceed to the field of his 
 future operations immediately, and a steamer leaving that day Conn could 
 only communicate with his beloved parents by letter, informing them of his 
 good fortune. 
 
 When Miss Nettie learned that Conn had been discharged she took especial 
 pains to make inquiries about him and his future. She never confided to any 
 one her feelings toward the young man, but it must be admitted that she felt 
 a tender interest in his welfare, and now that he was gone, missed his hand- 
 6ome face sorely. 
 
 A Lapse of Years. 
 
 This was in 1871, and Conn was in bis twenty -second year. As the 
 steamer bearing hira away left his native shores in the dim distance, he 
 lifted iip a prayer to the Most High to guide him aright in his new under- 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 51 
 
 taking, and he inwardly resolved that he would some day return socially the 
 equal of the girl he loved. He could then dare to ask her hand in marriage. 
 
 Five years passed away, spent by our hero in a persistent, laborious struggle 
 toward the goal he had marked in life. His efforts were rewarded, and he 
 had not been long among the indolent Chilians before his superior strength 
 otjpntellect lifted him above all competitors, and a stream of wealth steadily 
 poured toward him. A great railroad was projected, and Coun — we still 
 preserve the familiar title — had the sole contract to build and equip it. The 
 determination was to provide the travelling public with all manner of modern 
 conveniences, and to encourage home industries, car and locomotive works, 
 rolling mills, machine shops, etc., were established, and Conn started for 
 home to engage skilled labor in all the different departments. 
 
 He arived safely in Brooklyn, and at once proceeded towards his old home, 
 his heart overflowing with joy as he fancied the surprise and rejoicing of bi.s 
 parents at his unexpected return. The old house looked doubly familiar as 
 he approached it, but no welcome light ,shone from the windows. He 
 knocked long and loudly at the door, but receiving no response he was about 
 turning away, when a woman in an adjoining house raised the window and 
 asked him what he desired. 
 
 " I was in search of Mr. and Mrs. Daly," said Conn. " Can you tell me if 
 they still live here ? " 
 
 " They still live here," replied the woman, *' but they went to New York 
 early this morning to visit some friends, and will not be back until to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Thanking the woman for this information Coun turned away, and with 
 aimless steps walked down the street. He passed a theatre, resplendent with 
 light, and joined the throng of gayly-dressed pleasure-seekers, filing into the 
 building. He asked for a ticket at the box-office, but was told that all 
 reserved seats had been taken, and that only gallery tickets were procurable. 
 
 " That will do," he said, and, taking the bit of pasteboard entitling him to 
 a seat, passed up the long, winding stairs to the gallery, and took a position 
 in the front row of seats. 
 
 It was a remarkable concidence that ]\Iiss Nettie ^lorgan had accepted an 
 invitation to visit the same theatre that evening. Mr. George St. Clair Fitz- 
 herbert, a young gentleman of elegant leisure, considerable wealth and few 
 brains — nevertheless aristocratically connected, and therefore a welcome 
 visitor at the Morgan mansion — had purchased two orchestra seats in the 
 most eligible locality, and invited Miss Nettie to do him the honor of sharing 
 one of them. Now Nettie failed to have a very high regard for George Sr. 
 Clair Fitzherbert's aristocratic connections, leisurely habits, wealth, etc. ; in 
 fact she had been known to call him a " conceited booby," but Miss Nettie 
 was fond of the theatre; she very much desired to see the " Two Orphans," 
 and therefore did the young scion of aristocracy "the honor." 
 
 The interval before the appearance of the orchestra was devoted by Conn to 
 a careful survey of the theatre and the audience. Just as the overture began 
 Miss Nettie and her aristooratit^ escort entered, and the former was imme- 
 diately recognized by Conn, instantly all interest in the play was lost. He 
 
52 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 had eyes and thoughts only for Nettie Morgan. If one had asked Conn the 
 next day the simplest question about the play, it is doubtful if he could have 
 answered it. Miss Nettie, unconscious of this idolatrous adorer's silent, soul- 
 enraptured worship, gave all her sympathies to the troubles and heart-griefs 
 of the " Two Orphans." More than once tears sprang to her eyes at the 
 pathetic situations. • 
 
 The Cry of Fire. 
 
 The curtain was rung up on the last scene of the last act. It was the hut 
 of the Frochards on the bank of the river Seine. It discovered the blind girl 
 Louise on her pallet of straw, over whom was bending Pierre Frochard. 
 Suddenly the actors heard whispers of " Fire, fire," and a shuffling to and fro 
 behind the scenery. Mr. Murdoch, who was playing Piei-re, also heard the 
 alarm, and Miss Claxton {Louise) whispered to him : 
 
 *' The stage is on fire ! " 
 
 The play went on, Louise and Pierre continuing to recite their parts. 
 W'hen Mrs. Farren, as Pierre's mother, rushed in and, as the action of the 
 play demanded, seized Louise by the hair and pulled her head violently back- 
 ward. Miss Claxton's eyes were turned upward, and then she saw little tongues 
 of flame playing over her head and licking up the flies at the top of the 
 scenes. There were now four persons on the stage : Miss Claxton, Mrs. 
 Farren, J. B. Studley and H. S. Murdoch. 
 
 As they went on with the play, they whispered to one another about the 
 fire and exhorted one another to do everything possible to prevent a panic in 
 the audience. They thought that the flames"raight yet be extinguished with- 
 out consuming the stage, and Miss Claxton said to Mr. Murdoch : 
 
 "Go on, go on, or there'll be a panic. They'll put the fire out from 
 behind." 
 
 In the latter part of the scene, where Pierre approaches Louise, and she 
 draws back, exclaiming, " I forbid you to touch me ! " Mr, Studley, as Pierre, 
 turned his back to the audience upon approaching Miss Claxton, and whis. 
 pered to her, while the burning beams above were almost ready to fall upon 
 them, and they knew it: 
 
 " Be quiet ! Stand perfectly still ! " and extending fis arms, Miss Claxton 
 ftmained immovable. 
 
 The audience had not yet discovered the fire; but after the passionate ex- 
 clamation, "I forbid you to touch me! " Miss Claxton glanced upward at the 
 roaring flames that were now leaping from scene to scene, and hesitated, un- 
 certain what to do. At this moment those sitting in the body of the house 
 caught sight of the red flames at the top of the stage. Instantly wild cries of 
 "Fire!" Fire!" were heard, and the people sprang to their feet terrified, 
 and rushed, stumbling over the seats and crushing one another, toward the 
 entrance. 
 
 Cinders were then falling upon the stage, and Miss Claxton, Mrs. Farren, 
 Mr. Murdoch, and Mr. Studley advanced together to the footlights with 
 panic written on their faces. Mr. Studley, in his stentorian tones, shouted to 
 the affrighted people that they were safe if they kept quiet. 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 53. 
 
 "The»e will, of course," he said, "be no further performance, but you've all 
 time to get out if you go quietly." 
 
 Several persons in the orchestra were recalled to their senses by these 
 words, and they sat down again. The men appeared to be more excited than 
 the women. The aristocratic Fitzherbert, at the first alarm, was seized with 
 a most uncontrollable fear — his blase face was the color of chalk, and his 
 thin legs knocked together like reeds shaken by the winter wind. Forget- 
 ting all else but his own person in a selfish scramble for safety, he started to 
 his feet and was rushing away. Miss Nettie, although terrified beyond meas-- 
 ure, had presence of mind enough left to see that haste would ouly increase 
 the danger. She caught her frightened escort by the hand, and pulled hiiu 
 into the seat beside her. 
 
 "Don't run," she cried ; "we will get out better if we go slowly." 
 
 The musicians in the orchestra were urging the people to retire quietly, and 
 so were the actors. Fitzherbert instinctively turned his eyes toward them, 
 and saw a mass of flame back of the actors, with bits of burning wood drop- 
 ping down, and the sight seemed to craze him. He started to his feet, tore 
 violently away from Miss Nettie, and dashed into the crowd struggling to 
 escape. The instinct of self-preservation had overcome reason, and the strug- 
 gle for life became fierce and uncontrollable. 
 
 As her escort thus basely deserted her, Nettie's self-possession fled, and with 
 a low moan of anguish she sank back upon the seat and covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 The Rescue— Facing Death. 
 
 Intent on watching Nettie, Conn saw little of the play. When the first 
 cry of "Fire" was raised, he started to his feet and leaned eagerly forward. 
 He saw the sparks falling upon the stage among the actors — heard Miss Clax- 
 ton cry : 
 
 " Will the people keep their seats? We are between you and the flames, 
 and will be burned first. Will the people in the front scats sit down ? " 
 
 Then he saw the peoj^le in the orchestra seats pause for a moment, saw the 
 frightened look on the face of Fitzherbert as Nettie pulled him down beside 
 her, and then, as the coward basely deserted her, he sprang upon the gallery 
 railing, lowered himself to the family circle, from thence down into the body, 
 of the house, and in a moment was by the side of the girl he so passionately 
 loved. 
 
 She started when he placed his hand upon her shoulder, and then, as her 
 eyes encountered the hungry flames reaching out their long arms, and con- 
 suming with lightning rapidity the canvas scenes, hid her face again and 
 ehuddered convulsively. • 
 
 Conn, with his hand still upon her shoulder, looked in the same direction. 
 The beams, supporting the roof of the boat-house, were falling in all direc- 
 tions, and the actors, conscious of their imminent peril, were in the act of 
 rushing from the stage through a perfect rain of fire. As they disappeared a 
 bright tongue of flame shot out over their heads toward the audience. It was 
 
54 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 like atransformation scene in a spectacle. The musicians were disaj^earing 
 uuder the stage. Liberty seemed to lie in that direction. 
 
 " Come, Miss Nettie," cried Conn. " We must not perish. I will save 
 you." 
 
 She started up with a look of surprise, but uttered no word, and throwing 
 his strong arm around her slender waist, Conn dragged rather than led her 
 toward the little door that gave exit to the musicians. In a moment they 
 were under the stage groping around blindly in the dark, while the angry 
 Hame hissed and crackled overhead with a sullen, ominous roar. Supporting 
 the beautiful girl, Conn darted toward a door through which he saw some of 
 the actors disappear. He found himself in a little entry, dimly lighted by a 
 single gas burner. It was a subterranean passage under the floor to the box 
 office in front of the house. Pushing the beautiful girl before him, Conn 
 sprang into this seeming haven of safety, and as the door closed behind him, 
 the angry flames, fanned by the draught, almost licked the clothes from his 
 back. Rapidly fleeing along the passage way, the pair reached a flight of 
 steps, at the head of which was a door. He strove to open it, but his efl!brts 
 were resisted. 
 
 " Great God ! " he cried ; " it is locked." 
 
 Nettie answered with a moan of anguish, and the sight of her face, ethereally 
 beautiful in its paleness, nerved him to desperation. He stepped back a few- 
 paces, and threw his entire weight upon the door. It shivered, swayed, and 
 gave way, admitting them into the box ofiice. There was yet another door 
 to pass through, leading into the lobby, through which the maddened multi- 
 tude was struggling. Resting a moment. Conn again dashed forward and 
 burst the door open against the struggling throng. In an instant the two 
 were in the midst of the frenzied mob, who fought and struggled for life with 
 the desperation of mad men. Men and women were being trampled upon by 
 those behind them, and the former were as terror-stricken as the latter. The 
 glare in the street, and the smoke in the corridor, enhanced the terror of those 
 seeking an exit. 
 
 " Cling closely to me," Conn whispered in the ear of the beautiful creature 
 in his arras. Raising aloft his strong right arm, he tightened his hold upon 
 Nettie's waist, and swaying from right to left, fighting down all opposition, 
 was in a minute in the thickest of the throng. The two were lifted off their 
 .feet instantly, and carried out into the street with the surging mass. 
 
 A carriage was standing near, and into it Conn hurried his half-fainting 
 charge. Directing the coachman to drive with all speed to the address he 
 gave him. Conn leaned again into the carriage, and this time dared to snatch 
 a kiss from her pale lips. 
 
 " God bless you. Miss Nettie, my darling ! " he cried ; and bursting into 
 tears, the beautiful girl could only cry, 
 
 " You have saved my life ; I shall never forget you." 
 
 Again he ventured to touch his lips to her cheek, and then, closing the door 
 of the carriage, he bade the coachman drive with all haste, and hurried back 
 toward the burning theatre. 
 
 A mad and frightened crowd was still pouring from the building, and with- 
 
Earning of the Brooklyn Th«atrc during the perfbrinanee of the ** Two Orphan^*'* 
 
 5i:an& J)fs Itrooklqiiet Kljeateta wcUjrcnll Jttr JJorftcauna Dcr „J5toct Jpoi^^ 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 57 
 
 out one thought of the great danger he placed himself in, Conn dashed in among 
 the struggling men and women, to save more lives, if possible. He struggled 
 manfully with the surging mass, and was soon in the body of the theatre. 
 
 But one man and two Women were In the auditorium, and bidding them fly 
 for their lives. Conn seized one of the pillars supporting the family circle 
 gallery, and by a few vigorous muscular efforts raised himself to the top of the 
 railing. Jumping quickly over he rushed toward one of the exits, through 
 which a maddened crowd was struggling in tumult aad disorder. In vain he 
 endeavored to quell their frenzy. Forcing his way toward the head of the 
 stairs, his strong arm was exerted to hurl back frightened men and allow the , 
 shrieking, shouting mass below to escape. Suddenly a cry came from below 
 that aided him to drive back the uppermost. 
 
 " For God's sake, turn back ; we cannot get out," was called from the 
 bottom of the blocked and creaking stairway, and immediately there was a 
 momentary relaxation of the downward pressure of the crowd. At this mo- 
 ment Conn extricated himself from the crowd, and hurried back into the 
 dress-circle. The parquet below was empty, and people were dropi)ing from 
 the gallery into it, and lowering themselves from tier to tier. The stage was a 
 Jnnss of flames, and the smoke was filling the auditorium and rushing into 
 the corridors. He hurried to the front main entrance of the dress-circle, and 
 there found a mass of men and women shrieking, shouting and crowding 
 madly down upon the living mass below. For a while the passage seemed 
 blocked by a human barrier which could neither move of itself nor give way 
 to pressure from above. Burly men and weak women seemed alike power- 
 less in that dense throng, and to aggravate the panic, people at the turn of 
 the stairs kept calling, " Go back ! go back ! You cannot get out this way." 
 This may have been intended to restrain the crowd above from forcing their 
 way down, but it had a different effect.- People madly urged each other 
 forward, men swore and women shrieked, and to heighten the horror of the 
 Bcene a volume of black smoke burst into the passage and rolled aloDg^ 
 blinding the eyes and parching the throat. In this dreadful moment, when 
 the horrors of death seemed to stare those people in the face and to over- 
 shadow them like a pall, a desperate flight for life began. Women fainted 
 and men fell under foot and were trampled down, and through that writhing, 
 struggling mass, amid a tumult of cries and shrieks and groans, the lower 
 vestibule was reached. 
 
 A lady in front of our hero, pressed and beaten down by the mad crowd, 
 fainted and would have fallen. He caught her in his arms, and now began a 
 desperate struggle. Persons from the gallery and elsewhere had blocked the 
 dw)i*s, and there were many behind him in the dress-circle, pushing violently, 
 one even clutching at the head of the unconscious lady as she hung over his 
 shoulder. Slowly they were making for the doors, when the flames from the 
 ceiling seemed to dart down and met the jets from the gaselier. Then there 
 was dreadful yelling and crowding at the doors, men and women struggling 
 desperately for every inch gained. A horrible accident occurred. A lady 
 partly suffocated, like the rest of them, had fallen and could not be lifted, and 
 was evidently trampled to death. But there was no time to think. He 
 
58 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE, 
 
 passed over several forms. Looking behiud for an mstant he saw there was 
 a frightful panic in the theatre. The gas or something else had exploded, 
 the lights were out, the flames r«ared and the pieces of wood and plaster fell 
 upon the heads of those at a distance. " Mercy ! " " My God, save me ! " and 
 names of husbands and brothers were shouted. The heat was intense, for the 
 fire was rapidly closing upon them. Arms were thrown up in an attemj)t to 
 force a passage, as men sometimes do when swimming, and dozens must have 
 been swept under and trodden to death. He had now nearly reached the 
 door. All at once a fearful ci-ash came, as if the gallery or ceiling had 
 tkllen. " Murder ! " " Help ! " " Help ! " seemed to be shouted from a hundre*! 
 lips. He turned as he felt the fresh air blow upon his face, and saw behind 
 eomething like a dark wall. He then felt that at least a hundred and fifiy 
 people were shut in to certain destruction. But the groaning and yelling 
 continued worse than ever. Beyond this wall he could see bright flames, 
 which seemed to swell and surge in a terrible manner. On gaining the street 
 he found still more excitement ; but he had to hurry to the station-house 
 with his unconscious burden. In a moment he was back again at the theatre, 
 exerting himself to the utmost to quiet the people in the lower lobby, and 
 have them leave in an orderly way, so that all might get out safe. But when 
 the audience, in their mad rush to escape from the flames, began to trample 
 on one another, he commanded them to keep back so that he might save those 
 who had fallen. Although the surging crowd was loath to obey, yet his 
 commands were so earnest that he kept them back a sufiicient time to pick up 
 about twenty persons who would otherwise have been crushed and killed, 
 and carried them, comparatively unhurt, into the adjoining station-house. 
 After saving these people he returned to the theatre, which was now en- 
 veloped in flames. Men, women and children were thrown down and tram- 
 pled upon, but the brave man rushed in among the frantic crowd, at the 
 imminent risk of his own life, and pulled out a number of bodies, cut, bruised 
 and bleeding. Those who witnessed his actions state that he saved in this 
 way the lives of at least forty persons. 
 
 When the firemen arrived, he assisted them to quell the flames. He re- 
 mained at the fire throughout the night and all the next day. He was one 
 of the first to discover the dead bodies, and although faint, hungry, and 
 burned and blackened out of human semblance, assisted in getting out 
 the charred and mangled bodies, and it was not until the last one had 
 been removed that he sought repose. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 Conn, or rather Mr. Daly, took an early opportunity of visiting the house 
 of his old employer, Mr. Morgan. Being possessed now of abundant means 
 and letters of introduction from high dignitaries in the Chilian government 
 he had no difficulty in getting an invitation from Mr. Morgan to t«a, with 
 whom he had made a large contract for tools. 
 
 Miss Nettie looked more charming than ever, and to the surprise of pntnr 
 JamUiaa recognized his guest as the brave gentleman who rescued her from 
 
BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 50 
 
 the burning theatre. It is unnecessary to say that Mr. Morgan was agreeably 
 surprised, and the gallant rescuer being socially and pecuniarily his peer, 
 young, and distinguished-looking, he began to look upon him as a possible 
 son-in-law. 
 
 It was not our purpose to tell a love-story, and it is only necessary to add 
 that if there is anything in "signs," Mr. Daly will certainly carry off as a 
 bride the charming Miss Nettie Morgan. 
 
 List of the Sufferers. 
 
 It is extremely probable that a great many persons were lost in the terrible 
 fire whose bodies were not recovered. The following is a complete list of the 
 identified dead, the unidentified, and persons reported to the police as missing : 
 
 IDENT 
 
 Argrove, Charles, 152 St. Mark's avenue. 
 Aurbach, Gustave, 30 Hudson avenue. 
 Armstrong, Christopher, 208 Skilhuan street. 
 Addison, John, 177 Water street. 
 A Qiao, Alfred, 331 Hamilton avenue. 
 Amand, Gustave, Hamilton avenue. 
 Athell, Durell, Court and Nelson streets. 
 Ashwell, Joseph, 86 Fleet street. 
 
 Alberte, Amanda, 266 Atlantic avenue. 
 
 « 
 
 Bedford, Daniel, Hicks and Clark streets. 
 Bennett, W., 129 Butler street. 
 Brook A., 1677 Atlantic avenue. 
 Brosnan, John, 300 Pearl street. New York. 
 Brown, William, 520 Hicks street. 
 Bryant, William A., 107 Flatbush avenue. 
 Bullion, William F., 436 Lafayette avenue. 
 Burton, William F., 439 Lafayette avenue. 
 Bordesa, May, 62 Fulton street. 
 Birdsall, A. B., 334 Atlantic avenue. 
 Boyle, Peter, Adams place. 
 Burke, Frederick, 197 Fulton street. 
 Bolstridge, George, 246 Adams street 
 Broderick, Patrick, 85 Sackett street. 
 Boyle, Thomas, 380 Adams street. 
 Burroughs, Claude, New York. 
 
 Ciirran. Richard, 123 Jay street. 
 Clark, E., 135 18th street. 
 Cowan, James, 68 Sumter street. 
 Conconan, Peter, 73 Walworth street. 
 
 Ginler, John, 
 
 Chantey, Henry, 289 Court street. 
 Crandall, William E., 325 Myrtle avenue. 
 Chichester, T., Baltic street. 
 Caasidy, M., 475 Adelphi street. 
 
 IFIED. 
 
 Creech, W., 44 Duffield street. 
 Cassidy, James, 150 Hamilton avenue, 
 Conroy, Michael, 256 Plymouth street. 
 Callom, James, 46 Amity street. 
 Cassrelt, John, 164 Prince street. 
 Cowan, James, 197 South Portland avenne. 
 CuUen, John D., 48 Amity street. 
 CuUen, James, 41 Amity street, 
 
 De Shay, Mr. 
 
 Dietz, Aaron, Greene avenue. 
 Dietz, Abraham, Greene avenue. 
 Dooner, James, Willoughby and Canton sta. 
 Devoe, Chas. E., Devoe st., Williamsburgh. 
 Doner, Hugh, 117 Tillary street. 
 Dempsey, Thomas, 103 Prince street. 
 Dorrity, Edward, 103 Prince street. 
 Deanaro, Clara, 246 Fourth street. 
 Davidson, Dennis, 26 Withers street. 
 Dunlan, Charles, 81st street, New York, (su- 
 pernumerary). 
 Divine, Thomas, East New York. 
 Doran, John, Willoughby and Kent aves. 
 Donlan, William, 171 Prince street. 
 
 Elliott, James, Atlantic avenue. 
 Easebel, John, 
 
 Fry, John, 316 Skillman street. 
 Fry, William, 316 Skillman street. 
 Fry, Henry, 316 Skillman street 
 Foley, Cornelius, 151 Degraw street. 
 Farrell, George, 145 Myrtle avenue. 
 Franke, Charles, 7 Degraw street. 
 Franke, William, 129 Columbia street 
 Franke, Charles, 129 Columbia street 
 FrankLsh, , M. D., 
 
60 
 
 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 Faron, E. E., 54 Charles street. 
 Farey, Patrick, 104 President street 
 
 Garrett, Charles, 9S Livingstone street. 
 Gilhoma, Samuel, 138 Portland avenue. 
 Garvey, John E., 25tli street and Third ave. 
 Goodwin, J., 495 Canal street. 
 Guthrie, F., 1029 Lafayette avenue. , 
 Glies, Philip, GO Woloott street. 
 Gibbons, Frank, 1029 Laiiiyette street. 
 Gray, Alfred II., 158 Calycr street. 
 Gray, William A., 158 Calyer street. 
 Guy, James, 123 York street. 
 Gorth, Frank, 
 
 Ilecht, Louis, 431 Pulaski street. 
 Hendricks, Mr., 1 Lawrence street. 
 
 Hendricks, , 191 Fulton street. 
 
 Holdrich, Dora, 
 Holdrich, Emma. 
 
 Hartman, William, 2 Myrtle avenue. 
 Hasten, John, 447 Hudson avenue. 
 Hayes, John, 205 West 22d street, 
 Hanfry, John, 175 Court street, 
 Huston, John, 447 Hudson avenue, 
 Hoefler, George, and child, of Gowanus. 
 Hoefler, Kate, of Gowanus. 
 Howell, R., 30 Scholes street. 
 
 Jones, Henry H., 154 Summit street. 
 Jackson, Robert, 443 Flatbush avenue. 
 Jackson, John A., 355 Adams street. 
 Jackson, C, 
 
 Kerlan, John, Marcy ave. and Kosciusko st. 
 
 Kennedy, John, 81 Gold street, 
 
 Kraft, Henry, Boerum street, 
 
 Kerrigan, Joseph, 341 Water street. [st. 
 
 Kroemer, Joseph, Bush wick ave. and Stagg 
 
 Kelly, Michael, 18 Meeker avenue. 
 
 Lamb, Lawrence, 311 Plymouth street. 
 Lane, G. 
 
 Lawler, P., 68 Little street, 
 Lewis, P., Binghampton. 
 Lowenther, Abram, 203 Fulton street. 
 Lott, Charles, 464 Sackett street. 
 Ix)tt, George, 464 Sackett street. 
 Jx)ughlin, John, 244 Bridge street. 
 Ijessen, Isaac, 264 Atlantic avenue. 
 
 Ivcnnon, James, 
 
 lyooney, Joseph, Conover street. 
 Likewise, Annie, New Lots. 
 Lohn, John, 186 Prince street. 
 
 Martinj Ann and child, 37^ Lawrence st. 
 McGinniss, John, 38 Little Water street. 
 
 McCullough, Angus, 294 Pacific street. 
 McLoughlin, George, 229 15th street. 
 McLean, James, 160 Myrtle avenue. 
 McManus, John, 506 Court street. 
 McDermott, John, 2 Elliot place. 
 McCarty, Patrick, 55 James street. 
 McCafferty, James P., 251 Navy street. 
 McGiffy, John, 449 Hicks street. 
 McNally, J., 202 Prince street. 
 Meeling, J. P., 148 Reardon street. 
 Meek, J. E., 77 Pacific street. 
 Martin, P. E., 26 Elliot place. 
 Morris, J., 22 Liberty street. 
 Murdoch, H. S., 53 Concord street 
 Murphy, James, 62 Amity street, 
 Murray, William, Navy street. 
 Mowberry, John, 285 Centre street 
 Mitterberry, Diedrich, 551 West 37th st 
 Meigh, Alfred, S9 Bushwick avenue. 
 Myer, Isaac, New York. 
 
 Nagle, W., 58 "Broadway. 
 
 Neith, C, Smitli street 
 
 Nevin, , 148 President street 
 
 Offerman, F. D., 16 Smith street. 
 Osborne, Wm. H., 177 Eagle st., Greenpoint 
 Oleson, Louis, 147 Sackett street 
 O'Bi'ien, Hugh, 147 Concord street • 
 Oram, Stephen, 135 Union avenue. 
 Ostrander, Jacob L., 374 Navy street * 
 
 Parsons, Mrs., and child, St Louis. 
 Pickford, Frank, Patchen avenue. 
 Pollard, John, Flushing and Grand ave. 
 Pearce, W. H., Duffield street 
 Phillii^s, Solomon, . 
 
 Quinn, James, 81 Gold street 
 
 Quick, Elias B., Jr., 20 8th street, E. D; 
 
 Ramsdell, G. R. 
 
 Reordon, P., 934 Atlantic avenue. 
 Ralph, Henry, Grand ave. and Bergen st. 
 Rogers, Catherine, Snedeker ave.. New Ix)t9. 
 
 Solomon, Morris, 103 Boerum place. 
 Solomon, Philiji, 103 Boerum place. 
 Solomon, Traccy, 103 Boerum place. 
 Solomon, Lena, 103 Boerum place. 
 Solomon, Deborah, 103 Boerum place. 
 Styles, Charles F., 221 Putnam aveoBe. 
 Scott, Charles, (officer.) 
 
 Taylor, Arthur, 27 Chauncey street 
 Turner, John F., Jas and Prospect streets. 
 
BURNING OF THE 
 
 Varick, Mrs., . 
 
 Webster, H., 240 Clinton street. 
 
 Wait, A., 80 Bushwick avenue. 
 
 Wine, R., 79 Butler street. 
 
 Weldon, M. J., 128 South First street. 
 
 Whistance, Thomas, 484 Hudson avenue. 
 
 BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 61 
 
 Wheeler, Lewis, 147 Sackett street. 
 Ward, Matilda, 18 Oxford street. 
 Wakeman, E., Joralemon and Cburt streets. 
 Wook, John, 101 Fleet place. 
 
 Xendid, William, 161 Fulton street, N. Y. 
 
 UNIDENTIFIED OR MISSING. 
 
 Arlaum, Arthur, 341 HamUton avenue. 
 Alberte, Louis, 266 Atlantic avenue. 
 
 Bedford, David, 122 Hicks street. 
 Binley, John, 56 Box street. 
 
 Barnes, , 520 Hicks street. 
 
 Boyne, Thomas, Vanderbilt avenue. 
 Ball, William, Third avenue and 36th st. 
 Ball, George, Third avenue and 36th st. [st. 
 Blachford, Chas., wife and child, 212 Bridge 
 Boyne, Bennett, 233 Plymouth street. 
 Berry, Caroline, Smith street. 
 Beatty, Edward, 71 Carlton avenue. 
 
 Cavanagh, Frost, 474 Hudson avenue. 
 Crane, Oliver F., 31 North Elliott place. 
 Collins, Daniel, 101 Prince street. 
 Chichester, Thomas, 232 Court street. 
 Coyle, Nicholas, Johnson and DufBeld sts. 
 Cadmos, Mrs. Phil, 628 Fifth avenue. 
 Cadmos, George W., 628 Fifth avenue. 
 
 Deree, Charles E., 34 Devoe street. 
 Donlan, William, 229 Navy street. 
 Delepartree, Ed., 66 Smith street. 
 Dakin, Daniel, New London. 
 Doolittle, Henry, 153 Union place. 
 
 Foden, Walter, 209 Jay street. 
 Froidevaux, Rosine, 257 Columbia street. 
 Forskein, Andrew, 1075 Third avenue. 
 
 Green, Frank, 1029 Lafayette avenue. 
 Gregg, John, 251 Van Brunt .street. 
 Gowan, John, 245 Adams street. 
 Grange, George A., Galveston, Texas. 
 Game, Robert, 179 Butler street. 
 
 Hand, Stewart, Smith and State streets. 
 Hickey, John, 103 Fulton street. 
 Hamilton, Delia, Pine and Pearl sts., N. Y, 
 HarrL<K)n, Charles, 349 Bridge street. 
 Holdridge, George, 245 Adams street. 
 Haskins, Lawrence, 81 Prince trtreet. 
 Harapson, Frederick, 461 Dean street. 
 Hampson, M». Emma, 461 Dean street. 
 
 Hellwick, Dora, 191 Fulton street. 
 Hellwick, Emma, 191 Fulton street. 
 
 Jackson, George, 355 Hicks street. 
 Jennings, John W., 47 Concord street. 
 
 Keenan, John, Marcy avenue. 
 
 Kraft, Geo., Boerum st., near Bushwick are. 
 
 Leek, Christopher, Marcy avenue. 
 Leyden, James, 199 State street. 
 Lidigate, Margaret, 1189 Atlantic avenue. 
 Lunt, Charles, 452 Hart street. 
 Lunt, Josephine, 452 Hart street. 
 Leverich, Caleb, 105 Clermont avenue. 
 
 McClair, 94 Hudson avenue. 
 McLellan, Edward, New Pearl street, N. Y. 
 McLellan, Mrs. Jane, New Pearl st., N. Y. 
 McLellan, James, New Pearl street, N. Y. 
 McLellan, Mary A., New Pearl st., N. Y. 
 McGuigan, James, New Pearl street, N. Y. 
 McCullough, John, 244 Pacific street. 
 McCullough, Donald Ross, 244 Pacific st 
 
 McGinnis, 11 Adams street. 
 
 McGinnis, — ■— 11 Adams street. 
 McNeil, James, 160 Myrtle avenue. 
 Martin, Timothy, 37 Lawrence street. 
 Mulvadey, Mary, 11 Little Water street. 
 Merton, G. S., Galveston, Texas. 
 Montrose, Joseph F., Navy street. 
 
 Nathan, Stephen, 66 Prince street 
 
 Pampool, Lena, 191 Fulton street. 
 Pollard, William, Flushing and Grand aves. 
 
 Reigler, Joseph, 296 Atlantic avenue. 
 Rothwell, Adelaide, 1,191 Atlantic avenue. 
 Rossel, (Cuban), 62 Fulton street 
 
 Suntz, Henry, 289 Court street 
 Suntz, Charles, 289 Court street 
 Sorlemer, George, Pearl and Concord sts. .^ 
 Stephens, George, 214 Jay street 
 Stedall, A., 45 Flatbush avenue. 
 ■ Steele, Daniel, 33 Ninth street i 
 
62 
 
 BURNING OF THE BROOKLYN THEATRE. 
 
 Ti-acev, John, 277 Wvckoff street 
 
 Vecht, Christian, Sniitli street. 
 
 Wroe, Charles, 191 Prince street. 
 Wroe, Charles, Jr., 191 Prince street. 
 
 Tiirpinghi, William, 14th st. and Fifth ave. 
 
 Valdes, (Cuban), G2 Fulton street. 
 
 LATEST REPORT OF MISSING PERSONS. 
 
 Since the above list was prepared, the following persons have been reported 
 to the police as yet missing : 
 
 Byrnes, Bernard, 17, 233 Plymouth street. 
 Francis, George, 30, New York. 
 
 Game, Robert, 20, 179 Butler street. 
 tJannon, John, IS, 81 Gold street, N. Y. 
 Gibbs, Mary, 45, Sullivan street, 
 
 Hayes, Samuel, 20, Fifth avenue. 
 Ilcsdra, Mary A., 25, 153 Gold street. 
 Hennessey, George, 29, 6 Duffield st 
 
 Jennifion, TI., 19, Fourth ave., cor. Wyckofi' 
 
 street. 
 Jpimison, A., 17, Fourth ave., cor. Wyckoff 
 
 8U-ect 
 
 Jordan, Fred., 19, 500 Pacific street 
 
 Morgan, Frank, 20, 224 Atlimtic avenue. 
 
 Page, Sarah A., 48, 153 Gold street. 
 Page, Addie S., 23, 153 Gold street 
 
 Russell, Arthur, 23, 334 Atlantic avenue. 
 
 Smith, Mrs., 52, 141 Sands street 
 Simpson, Mrs., 24, 141 Sands street 
 
 West, Catharine, Hartford, Conn. 
 White, William, 20, Smith street 
 
 Wayland, Maggie, 
 
 Warner, John, 27, 438 Atlantic avenue. 
 
^ 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 iiini 
 
 014 223 657 6< 
 
 Rescuing her paralyzed Father. 
 Srrettung i^re^ Q\d)thxud)\Qm 33atcr0.