Destructive Fire

Richmond, Va., Aug. 9

We stop the press to announce the complete destruction of our state penitentiary by fire!

A few minutes before twelve last night, the alarm of fire was sounded; and a broad glare of light to the west indicated the fire to be in that direction. Our prophetic fears were realized; and the extensive range of buildings constituting the state penitentiary rapidly exhibited a tremendous sheet of flames. The efforts to save the buildings were idle.

The fire engines were hurried to the spot, and a crowd of citizens were collected; but their exertions were confined to save the convicts, some of the Public property in the front center building, and a few wagons, and ploughs under the shed without. Few of the goods in the center building, comparatively, were saved.

As far as we have ascertained, all the convicts were saved. The turnkeys, who slept under the buildings, were able to unlock the upper rooms and those who slept in them rushed through the front gatee. A few of the tower cells had not been unlocked; and by the most laudable and vigorous exertions on the part of our fellow citizens, through the outer wall, or by cutting the grating out of the windows, four wretched beings were dragged as it were from the tomb into life.

Captain Bolling’s company of the public guard repaired with alacrity to the spot; and assisted by the citizens grouped the convicts together, to prevent their escape. They were marched off to the capitol, and confined in its ample portico under a guard. Not one of them seems to have made any attempt to escape; and throughout the whole scene they behaved remarkably well.

The whole of the buildings were consumed. No part of the brick work fell. The penitentiary was in the form of a semicircle, the two ends of the semicircle connected by a range of wall with a large house for the keeper, in the line of the range. In the interior, was a large central building for workshops, next to the east side of the semicircular building.

It is suspected that the fire commenced in the shoemaker’s shop, where sometimes 20 to 25 worked at once. A strong suspicion is entertained that The fire was the effect of design; and that possibly some of the workmen may have contrived to smother up some fire. According to this supposition, it must have been more than three hours before it burst out; but all conjecture is baffled for the present.

The loss to the commonwealth is severe; scarcely less at a very rough guess than 200,000 dollars.

There were 247 convicts in the building; of these, 11 or 12 were women. We have this moment learned that 245 have been counted; 2 sick supposed to be in the vicinity of the prison; no one of them missing!

The sight was awful and grand beyond description. No words can do justice to the feelings which the whole scene produced. The penitentiary was to the west of the city; and isolated some distance from any other building. The fire, therefore, communicated to no other. The wind was light. It is long time since we sustained any serious alarm or loss by fire; but this blow compensates for our exemptions. How many interesting events have been crowded into the short space of three hours!

Transcribed and submitted by: Nancy Piper

The Centinel ( Gettysburg , Pennsylvania )  January 15 1812 

From the National Intelligencer

The following letter from a gentleman in Richmond , to M. Clay, Esq., a Representative from Virginia , gives an impressive account of the dreadful catastrophe.

Richmond , Dec. 27

Sir,

I have a tale of horror to tell; prepare to hear of the most awful calamity that ever plunged a whole city into affliction.  Yes, all of Richmond is in tears; children have lost their parents, parents have lost their children.  Yesterday a beloved daughter gladdened my heart with her innocent smiles; today she is in heaven!  God gave her to me, and God – yes, it has pleased Almighty God to take her from me.  Oh sir, feel for me, and not for me only; arm yourself with fortitude while I discharge the mournful duty, of telling you, that you have to feel also for yourself.  Yes of it must be told, you also were the father of an amiable daughter, now, like my beloved child, gone to join her mother in  Heaven.  How can words represent what one hour of unutterable horror, has done to overwhelm a hundred families with grief and despair.  No, sir, impossible My eyes beheld last night what no tongue, no pen can describe – horror that language has no terms to represent.

Last night we were all at the theater; every family in Richmond, or at least a very large proportion of them, was there—the house was uncommonly full—when, dreadful to relate the scenery took fire, spread rapidly above, ascending in volumes of flame and smoke into the upper part of the building, whence a moment after it descended to force a passage through the pit and boxes. In two minutes the whole audience were enveloped in hot, scorching smoke and flame. The lights were all extinguished by the black and smothering vapor; cries, shrieks, confusion, and despair, succeeded.

O moment of inexpressible horror! Nothing I can say, can paint the awful, shocking, maddening scene. The images of both my dear children were before me, but I was removed by an impassable crowd from the dear sufferers. The youngest (with gratitude to Heaven I write it), sprang towards the voice of her papa, reached my assisting hand, and was extricated from the overwhelming mass that soon chocked the passage by the stairs; but no efforts could avail me to reach, or even gain sight of the other; and my dear, dear Margaret, and your sweet Mary, with her companions, Miss Gwathmey and Miss Gatewood, passed together and at once, into a happier world. Judge my feeling by your own, when I found neither they nor my beloved sister appeared upon the stairs. First one, and then another, and another, I helped down; hoping every moment to seize the hand of my dear child, but no, no, I was not destined to have that happiness. O to see so, so many amiable helpless females trying to stretch to me their imploring hands, crying, “save me, save me!” Oh God, eternity cannot banish that spectacle of horror from my recollection. Some friendly unknown hand dragged me from the scene of flames and death, and on gaining the open air, to my infinite consolation, I found my sister had thrown herself from the upper window and was saved—yes, thanks be to God, saved where fifty others in a similar attempt, broke their necks, or were crushed to death  by those who fell on them from the same height. Oh, sir, you can have no idea of the general consternation—the universal grief that pervades this city—but why do I speak of that? I scarcely know what I write to you. Farewell. In Haste and deep affliction.

The Common Hall of the City of Richmond passed an ordinance on Friday the 27th ult., appointing commissioners for the several wards in the city, empowering them to cause to be collected the remains of those who have suffered by the conflagration, and to provide for the interment of such as may not be claimed by their friends and relatives.

Ordaining also, that all shops, stores, (unreadable), (unreadable). be shut up for forty eight hours.

Ordaining also, the prohibition of any public show or spectacle, or opening any public dancing assembly within the city during the term of four months.

A numerous meeting of the citizens of the city, of Manchester and others, convened at the capitol on the 27th, and appointed commissioners to superintend the respective wards and obtain the most accurate information of the names and number of such of the citizens who suffered.  Resolving that Wednesday next be observed as a day of humiliation and prayer; and several other resolutions; for the citizens to wear craps for one month; and appointing commissioners to receive contributions and make such arrangements in concert with a committee from the common hall as may be necessary for erecting the monument designated by an ordinance passed on that day.

Transcribed and Submitted by Nancy Piper