Hearts Afire

THE FIRE WITHIN.

At the season opening of the Brooklyn Theatre on December 5th night the play was “The Two Orphans.”

A first night opening at the Brooklyn Theatre is always an event for the New York public, no matter what play, old or new, is given; but when the work happens to be a favorite the excitement becomes tremendous.

The one thousand persons, male and female, who constitute high society, go about for a week beforehand, from house to house, from cafe to cafe, predicting that the play will be a success. The chief roles in “The Two Orphans.” were to be taken by Miss Kate Claxton and Mr. H. S. Murdoch, roles in which the public was to see these actors for the first time, though they were already known to everybody, either by reputation or from having been seen in other plays.

So, on December 5th, the one thousand members of high society put aside their usual occupations and arranged their time in such wise as to be ready promptly at eight o’clock, the men in their dress-suits, and the women in their rich and beautiful evening toilets. Everybody gave up something—a walk, a call, a luncheon, a nap—for the sake of getting betimes to the theatre.

By half-past seven the approaches to Brooklyn Theatre, its portico, its big and little entrances, all brilliantly lighted by gas, were swarming like an ant-hill with eager people. Some came on foot, the collars of their overcoats turned up, showing freshly shaven faces under their tall silk hats, or freshly waxed mustaches and beards newly pointed; others came in carriages; and before the central door, under the entrance, which was draped with flags, passed a constant stream of private carriages, depositing ladies muffled in dress-cloaks of red velvet or white embroidery.

By a quarter past eight the house was full.

Charlotte, dressed in white silk, and accompanied by Guy Barrington, occupied Box No. 19 of the first tier.

Guy Barrington appeared to give little heed to the play. He was pulling back his long frontal hair, and studying the ladies in the Theatre, while a slight smile played upon his lips. Presently he fixed his gaze on Charlotte. Had he felt that he was obligated? At any rate, he kept his eyes fixed upon Charlotte.

The curtain fell on the first act.

Fans fluttered, men changed their seats, people went and came, and many of the stalls were empty. The round of visits had begun. Husbands and brothers left their boxes to make place for other men beside their wives and sisters; to pay their respects to other men’s wives and sisters. There was a babble of many voices idly chatting. It began in the first and second tiers, and it rose to the galleries, the stronghold of students, workmen, and clerks.

Charlotte gazed sadly at that deserted box in front of her. All at once she heard Guy Barrington say, “Your mother and you father are with the Mistress Gordon.”

Charlotte turned round, and raised her opera-glass. They were there indeed, visiting the Mistress Gordon; Charlotte could see the pale and noble face of Joris Morgan, the glowing face of Lysbet Morgan. The Mistress Gordon was an Austrian, very clever, very witty. She wore a costume of red silk, and kept waving a fan of red feathers, as she talked vivaciously with the parents of Charlotte Morgan. She must have been saying something extremely interesting, to judge by the close attention with which they listened to her and by the smiles with which they responded.

When Charlotte put down her opera-glass, her face had become deathly pale.

“Are you feeling ill?” asked Guy Barrington.

“No, I am fine” Charlotte replied, paler than ever.

“Do you like “The Two Orphans?” Guy Barrington asked, for the sake of saying something, in the hope, perhaps, of thus forgetting her desire to see what was going on in the box of the Mistress Gordon.

“Very much. And you?”

“I like it immensely.”

“I am afraid—I am afraid that later on you may find it too exciting. You know the fourth act is very terrible. Don’t you dread the impression it may make upon you?”

“It won’t matter, Guy” Charlotte said, with a faint smile.

“Perhaps you would like to go home before the fourth act begins. If you feel nervous about it?”

“I am not nervous,” Charlotte murmured, as if speaking to herself. “Or, if I am, I’d rather suffer this way than otherwise.”

“We were wrong to come,” said Guy, shaking his head.

“No, no, Guy. Let us stay. I am all right; I am enjoying it. Don’t take me home yet.”

The house had become silent again, in anticipation of the second act. Here and there someone who had delayed too long in a box where he was visiting, would say good-bye quietly, and return to his place. A few such visitors, better acquainted with their hosts, remained seated, determined not to move. Among the latter were, of course, the lovers of the ladies, the intimate friends of the husbands.

And now the divine voice of Kate Claxton surged up and filled the Theatre, and Charlotte was conscious of nothing else—of nothing but the pale lighted stage and the face of Kate Claxton shining through it, like a star through the mist. How much time passed? She did not know. Twice Guy Barrington spoke to her; she neither heard nor answered.

When the curtain fell again, and Charlotte issued from her trance, Guy Barrington said, “There is Harleigh Daly.”

“Ah!” cried Charlotte, unable to control her feelings.

But Charlotte had self-constraint enough not to ask “where?” Falling suddenly from a heaven of rapture to the hard reality of her life, where traces of her old folly still lingered; hating her past, and wishing to obliterate it from her memory, as the motives for it were already obliterated from her heart, she did not ask where he was. She covered her face with her fan, and two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.

Guy Barrington looked at her, desiring to speak, but fearing lest thereby he might only make matters worse.

“We should not have come here, Charlotte,” Guy Barrington said.

“No, no,” responded Charlotte. “I am very well— I am very well “she added, enigmatically.

Charlotte bowed her head, as if oppressed by the heat and by the excitement, but really from a sense of self-contempt and humiliation. There was a looking-glass behind her. She was sorry now that she hadn’t made an inspection of herself in it. She had forgotten her own face. Fantastically, she imagined it as brown and scarred, and hideously pallid. Her white frock made it worse. She registered a silent vow that she would always hereafter wear black. Only gay women could afford to dress in white.

The interval before the appearance of the orchestra was devoted by Harleigh to a careful survey of the theatre and the audience. Just as the overture began Charlotte Morgan was immediately recognized by Harleigh. Instantly all interest in the play was lost. He had eyes and thoughts only for Charlotte. If one had asked Harleigh the next day the simplest question about the play, it is doubtful if he could have answered it. Charlotte Morgan, unconscious of this idolatrous adorer’s silent, soul-enraptured worship, gave all her sympathies to the troubles and heart-grief’s 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. The scene was of 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 Pierre, 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. When 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 backward, 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 might yet be extinguished without consuming the stage, and Miss Claxton said to Mr. Murdoch:

“Go on, go on, or there will 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 whispered 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 his arms, Miss Claxton remained immovable.

The audience had not yet discovered the fire; but after the passionate exclamation, “I forbid you to touch me!” Miss Claxton glanced upward at the roaring flames that were now leaping from scene to scene, and hesitated, uncertain 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.

“There 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 Guy Barrington, at the first alarm, was seized with a most uncontrollable fear—his handsome face was the color of chalk, and his thin legs knocked together like reeds shaken by the winter wind. Forgetting all else but his own person in a selfish scramble for safety, he started to his feet and was rushing away. Charlotte Morgan, although terrified beyond measure, had presence of mind enough left to see that haste would only increase the danger. She caught her frightened escort by the hand, and pulled him into the seat beside her.

“Don’t run,” Charlotte 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. Guy Barrington instinctively turned his eyes toward them, and saw a mass of flame behind the actors, with bits of burning wood dropping down, and the sight seemed to craze him. He started to his feet, tore violently away from Charlotte, and dashed into the crowd struggling to escape. The instinct of self-preservation had overcome reason, and the struggle for life became fierce and uncontrollable.

As Guy Barrington thus basely deserted her, Charlotte’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 Charlotte, Harleigh 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—he heard Miss Claxton 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 seats sit down?”

Then Harleigh saw the people in the orchestra seats pause for a moment, saw the frightened look on the face of Guy Barrington as Charlotte 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.

Charlotte startled when Harleigh placed his hand upon her shoulder, and then, as her eyes encountered the hungry flames reaching out their long arms, and consuming with lightning rapidity the canvas scenes, hid her face again and shuddered convulsively.

Harleigh, 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 directions, 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 like a transformation scene in a spectacle. The musicians were disappearing under the stage. Escape seemed to lie in that direction.

“Come, Charlotte,” cried Harleigh. “We must not perish. I will save you.”

Charlotte starred up with a look of surprise, but uttered no word, and throwing his strong arm around her slender waist, Harleigh 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 flame hissed and crackled overhead with a sullen, ominous roar. Supporting the beautiful girl, Harleigh 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, Harleigh 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 young couple reached a flight of steps, at the head of which was a door. Harleigh tried in vain to open it, but his efforts were useless.

“Great God!” Harleigh cried; “it is locked.”

Charlotte 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 office. There was yet another door to pass through, leading into the lobby, through which the maddened multitude was struggling. Resting a moment, Harleigh 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,” Harleigh whispered in the ear of Charlotte in his arms. Raising aloft his strong right arm, he tightened his hold upon Charlotte’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 Harleigh hurried his half-fainting damsel. Directing the coachman to drive with all speed to the address he gave him, Harleigh leaned again into the carriage, and this time dared to snatch a kiss from her pale lips.

“I will see you again, Charlotte, my darling!” Harleigh cried; and bursting into tears, the beautiful girl could only cry,

“You have saved my life; I shall never forget you.”

Again Harleigh 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, Harleigh never once thought of the great danger he placed himself in, Harleigh 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 auditorium of the theatre.

But one man and two women were in the auditorium, and bidding them run for their lives, Harleigh 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 and 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 Goodness 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 moment Harleigh extricated himself from the crowd, and hurried back into the dress-circle. The parquet below was empty, and people were dropping from the gallery into it, and lowering themselves from tier to tier. The stage was a mass 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 powerless 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 scene a volume of black smoke burst into the passage and rolled along, 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 overshadow 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 Harleigh, 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 doors, and there were many behind him in the dress-circle, pushing violently, 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. Harleigh passed over several lifeless forms. Looking behind for an instant he saw there was a frightful panic in the theatre. The gas or something else had exploded, the lights were out, the flames roared 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 attempt 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 crash came, as if the gallery or ceiling had fallen. “Help!” “Help!” “Help me!” seemed to be shouted from a hundred lips. He turned as he felt the fresh air blow upon his face, and saw behind something like a dark wall. He then felt that at least a hundred and fifty 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 sufficient 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 enveloped in flames. Men, women and children were thrown down and trampled 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 remained 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, he 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.

Harleigh, or rather Mr. Daly, took an early opportunity of visiting the house of his ex old employer, Mr. Morgan. Harleigh Daly being possessed now of abundant means and letters of introduction from high dignitaries in the New York government had no difficulty in getting an invitation from Mr. Morgan to tea. It is unnecessary to say that Mr. Morgan was eternally grateful for the young gallant rescuer, 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. Harleigh Daly will certainly carry off as a bride the charming Miss Charlotte Morgan.