University of Virginia Library

The Burning of the Rotunda.

BEING A SKETCH OF THE PARTIAL DESTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSITY
OF VIRGINIA (1895).

Now that the Whirl-i-gig of Time has once more brought
'round to us the Month of May, and, with its closing days, the
Centennial Celebration of the University, it has seemed not
inappropriate that we should have an illustrated re-print of
The Burning of the Rotunda; which, in the October, 1905,
issue of the University of Virginia Magazine, described
the event as "that fortunate catastrophe which, by reason of
the renewed energy and vigor which it has instilled into our
alumni and all lovers of higher education in this state, may
with some justice be characterized as the second epoch in the
history of the University,—the founding being reckoned as the
first and the Installation of Dr. Alderman as the third."

I trust that the reader will be mindful that the character of
this sketch being necessarily reminiscential, it is, of course,
at the same time more or less egotistic.

It was Sunday morning, October 27th, 1895, a bright,
cool, clear, autumn day. The early bells had rung at 8 and
8:30 o'clock, as was their wont in the days of the Old Rotunda.
Foshee, a student, returning from a late breakfast at Hatcher's
(now Mrs. Pilkington's), noticed some thin curls of smoke issuing
from the ventilator in the cornice of the north end of the
Annex, (See View from Carr's Hill) which building,—an ordinary
three-story red brick structure built just before the War
between the States,—extended from the Rotunda to the stone
abutments now (1921) to be seen just opposite Madison
Hall. Foshee, joined by Sloan and Penton, other students,
whom Foshee had called, started in quest of Uncle Henry to
sound an alarm by ringing the bell (then over the apex of the
front portico of the Rotunda). Uncle Henry, close at hand as
usual, soon had the old bell clanging and so the alarm of
fire was sounded, while these three students, joined by others
along the route who had been attracted by the cry of "Fire!,"

ran to the engine house, then in the rear of West Range.

A party of students, of whom the writer was one, was
seated in No. 33 West Range, just opposite the fire-engine
house, talking over prospective "goats," etc., for Eli had had
a "soiree" the night before and Delta Psi and T. N. E. had
"goated" on the same night.

It was just a quarter after ten o'clock (the then usual time
for the bell to ring for Chapel), when the bell rang,—for
Chapel, as we all thought. One of our party, looking at his
watch, remarked, "Gee! I didn't know it was so late!" Another
said, "Well, boys, I must go over and write some
letters," and so our little party was about to disperse when
suddenly we heard the shouting of those hurrying to get the
engine and hose-reels, mingled with the chopping of an axe
(cutting open the engine-house door) and the cry of "Fire!"
We never remembered which route each one took out of that
room,—door or window,—but soon we were all strung out
along the ropes, hauling the engine and reels down the alleyway
towards Elsom's (now the Physiological Laboratory),
then out to West Range and on between Elsom's and the
Chapel, across the greensward to the edge of the "Pond,"—
a small lake then between the Chapel, the stone abutments and
the road.

Under the direction of Prof. Raleigh C. Minor, who had been
pulling one of the reels, a line of hose was run off in a jiffy,
but the engine, having no suction pipe, could not be used and
so the hose was attached to a plug, the same one now (1921)
located about half way between Madison Hall, and the stone
abutments, and was then run up the high narrow stairs leading
to the rear door of the stage in the Public Hall,—a large
hall occupying the entire main floor of the Annex and having
a two-story pitch.

Upon entering the Public Hall, it was found that the fire,
which had originated from an unknown cause (probably defective
wiring), had gotten well under way in one of the
rooms of the Engineering Department in the northwest corner
of an upper floor of the Annex, and had already burned

through the upper left-hand corner of Balze's copy of the
"School of Athens," which handsome painting, about 30x15
feet, and valued at some $5,000, covered the entire rear wall
of the stage. A number of students attempted to cut the
painting from its fastenings, but, believing that the fire could
be kept under control, Dr. Kent and others in authority, prevailed
upon them to desist.

Prof. Echols and others were on a ladder against the painting
trying to reach the fire with the meagre stream of some
four or five feet, which was all that the plug would yield,
for the reduced pressure was caused by carrying the nozzle
so far above the water-mains, which were badly choked with
rust, though at the time it was thought that the reduced
pressure resulted from the repairs then in progress on the
water-pipes leading from the reservoir to the city. (Later,
during the progress of the fire, the supply of Charlottesville
was cut off in an attempt to increase the pressure at the
University). In a few minutes, the beam holding the lights
and reflectors above the curtin pole came down to the stage
with a crash, followed by a great shower of sparks and heavy
burning brands. Of course, those on the ladder against the
painting had to beat a retreat and turn their attention to other
points of vantage. At the time of the fire, it was rumored
that when this beam came to the floor, Prof. Humphreys,
with characteristic exactness, calmly remarked to those on the
stage about him, "Gentlemen, I think that we shall have to
take up another line of defense."

While these things were transpiring in the Public Hall,
the students and others were busily engaged carrying to
points of safety the books of the Law Library, then in the
Annex, and the instruments from the Physical and Mechanical
Laboratories, also at that time in the Annex, and, as one might
expect, these instruments, when removed, were in a woefully
dilapidated condition. Prof. Echols, realizing that there was
a more ample field for his abilities elsewhere, passed on
through the Public Hall to the portico between the Rotunda
and the Annex, where stood four columns supporting the roof

connecting the Annex to the Rotunda, and through which the
fire could eat its way into the Rotunda. (See Rotunda and Annex
from the East.)

Mr. J. A. Bishop, then Conservator of the Peace at the
University, who was working with Prof. Echols, had brought
one hundred pounds of dynamite, with fuses, caps, etc., from
his shop, and with these they proceeded to blow down the
four columns and so weaken the roof. While they were engaged
in this work, some of the spectators, thinking that these
gentlemen did not realize their danger, began to call to them,
then some threw rocks at them to attract their attention
without any thought of what would happen if a stick of dynamite
should be hit, and it was rumored at that time that one
of the spectators even got a pistol and fired at them, trying to
kill them in order that they might not be roasted to death in
the fire. The real intent of the pistol shots was to break down
the plaster from the under side of the roof to let in air so it
would burn from the bottom. This done, they passed on up
through the Library to the dome, with a view to blowing out
the now weakened roof with dynamite in order to keep the
fire confined to the Annex and so save the books in the Library,
which was about the same level as the second gallery of the
present Library,—the main floor of the present Library being
then used for academic lecture rooms, and these two elliptically
shaped lecture rooms with the two present basement rooms
constituted the then Academic Department of the University of
Virginia. It was while doing this work that Prof. Echols lost
his watch and fifty-eight dollars.

After reaching the dome, Prof. Echols and Mr. Bishop
realized that their supply of dynamite was too small for the
desired purposes and also that, as the fire was rapidly gaining
headway, it would be necessary to provide an exit other than
the stairs which they had just ascended through the Library.
That being the case, they decided to descend and get more
dynamite and at the same time provide the other exit.

Once on the ground, Prof. Echols grabbed the first man
that he came to (who happened to be the present Dr. Gordon

HENRY MARTIN.

Janitor and bellringer, 1847-1915; b. July 4, 1826, d. October 5, 1915,—
Alumni Bulletin, October, 1915, p. 597.

Wilson of Baltimore, Md.), and told him to go down town
as fast as he could and get some more dynamite. Wilson
used his head and immediately impressed the first vehicle in
sight,—a buggy, which some one, who had driven in from the
county to attend services at the University Chapel, had hitched
to a tree near by. Things were different in Charlottesville
twenty-five years ago from what they are today: there were
fewer stores and each store carried a more general stock,—
more like the general supply store which one finds in a mining
town. Wilson drove to the storekeeper's home and carried
him to the store, where he got two fifty pound boxes of dynamite,
on which he sat in the buggy, all the while urging
the horse towards the University at top speed, until he bounded
over the C. & O. tracks at 14th Street,—for there was no
bridge then,—only a grade crossing,—but after that bounding
over the tracks with the dynamite and realizing that he had
not been blown to atoms, he then urged the horse to bottom
speed.

While Wilson had been off after the dynamite, Prof. Echols
and his associates had made free use of the axes, which Uncle
Henry had gotten from the old bellrope room (to the east of
the front entrance to the present basement of the Rotunda)
to cut down the door to the secret passageway leading up
through the walls of the Rotunda to the dome (which passage,
now closed up had its entrance to the west of the front entrance
of the present basement of the Rotunda), and it was
this secret passageway which was to be used as an exit in
case they were cut off by the fire from the passage down
through the Library proper.

Finally Wilson's walking horse came along and Prof.
Echols, after some very emphatic disapproval of such slow
speed, proceeded, with absolute unconcern, to open the boxes
of dynamite (which, fortunately, was of the 50-pound test
variety), with one of his axes.

As soon as the first box was opened, it was dumped into a
big two-bushel meal bag, which came from no one could tell
where,—it just came, as did everything else that was needed

that day. With the bag of dynamite on his shoulders, Prof.
Echols, accompanied by Mr. Bishop, now passed up through
the secret passageway to the dome, their object being to make
a final effort to blow out the connecting roof, and how well
their work was done is proven by photographs[1] of the scene
which show but two scantlings left standing.

In the Library proper, all was chaos and confusion;—the
jingle of the glass which was being broken from the bookcases,
the yells and shouts of those working to save the books.
the orders of those who were directing the work of rescue, to
which was added almost every minute the explosion of a
dynamite cartridge used for blowing down some obstruction,
or getting rid of some portion of the building which might
facilitate the spread of the flames to the Lawns,—for at first
there was a sharp wind blowing from the Annex to the Rotunda,
though this, like a similar change of wind which saved
Richmond, (Va.,) from total destruction when it was evacuated
in '65, suddenly changed during the progress of the fire
and with nearly the violence of a gale took exactly the opposite
direction,—from the Lawn.

Of course all of us have heard of the noble heroism of the
women of our Southland, but those of us who were fortunate
enough to be around here that day saw more than one living
example of it. They kicked the glass doors out of the book-cases,—in
many instances breaking it out with their bare
hands,—and worked side by side with the men long after the
fire was in the Library. The boys would get down on their
knees and hold out their arms, while the women piled the
books as high as they could reach on the outstretched arms;
or again, the men would fill the women's silken (for it was
Sunday) skirts with books and in each case the one carrying
the books would take them to the window opposite the only
door to the Library (the window just above the front entrance

THE "POND"

Annex (north front) in background

PUBLIC HALL

Finals held here from July, 1853 to June, 1895. "School of Athens"
over stage in background.

to the Library of today) and dump them down to the portico
of the Rotunda, while others on the portico would carry them
down to the Lawn and away from further danger. At first
the men had tried to drive the women away, telling them that
they would save all the books, etc., but they would not go,
but worked everywhere that the men worked,—even in the
bucket-lines. Some one suggested that the bell be rung until
help should arrive from Charlottesville, for we could hardly
expect the people of the city to know that the University was
on fire, just because the bell had rung as it was accustomed to
do a dozen times every day. Uncle Henry had been called off
to more imperative duties and a student, hearing the suggestion,
went to the belfry, or rather to the room in which the
bell-rope hung (just to the east of the front entrance to the
present basement of the Rotunda) and was there met by the
sight of four women hanging on the bell-rope and there they
stayed until practically all of Charlottesville was on the University
Grounds. Then, when the bucket-lines were formed,
they took their places along with the men and handled the
buckets of water down the lines. Those few of the professors
and their wives who were not actually fighting the fire or rescuing
books were busily engaged preparing food for the now
famished workers, and it is safe to say that of the thousands
who were on the grounds that day, few there were, who were
not in some way lending a hand directly or indirectly in fighting
the fire,—professors, their wives and families, students,
townpeople and all.

The work of salvage in the Library proper progressed rapidly
and soon all the pictures, all the smaller book-cases and
11,694 of the 56,733 books were carried to places of safety out
on the Lawn, but there still remained the more serious propositions,
if the rescue work was to be a complete success. While
this work was at its height, a student (whose name the writer
much regrets that he was never able to ascertain) rushed into
the Library and, by reason of the intense excitement under
which he was laboring, gathered sufficient strength to pick up
the marble bust of Mr. Minor (the same one that is today to

be seen in Minor Hall), carried it down stairs and out on the
Lawn to Dr. Kent's house,—the present Administration Building.
Elated by his success, he then returned, picked up the
pedestal and carried it to the same place of safety. So great
had been the success of all their undertakings that the students
were now ready to undertake almost anything.

Over yonder, surrounded by its iron railing with its top
spikes curving outward, in the same relative position in which
it stands today, was the splendid marble statue of Jefferson by
Galt. Remember that in those days it stood on the main floor
of the Library, which is now the same level as the window
immediately over the present front entrance to the Library.

Someone, in what some might have termed a rash moment,
suggested that the statue should be next taken out, as it was
on the side of the house next to the fire and so in more imminent
danger. No sooner had the suggestion been made than
somebody produced a rope from somewhere. (As I have
said, nobody knew where things came from that day, nor how
they happened.)

Fortunately there was a man in the crowd who knew the
value of ropes and knots at a time like that. That man was
Dr. Howard H. Bailey, of Washington, D. C., who received
his M. D. Degree in June, '97. The boys stood in chairs and
lifted the iron railing over the head of the statue and threw
it on the floor. Taking the ropes with him, Bailey went up
into the then first gallery (about the level of the present
top gallery) and dropped a noose over the head of the statue;
this he pulled taut, passed it around one of the pillars
in the gallery and then threw the loose end to the crowd
on the floor below. Then with a second rope he did exactly
the same thing, except that he did not pass it around a pillar.
The first rope was eased out by the crowd on the floor and, as
a back-stay rope, held the statue from falling over on its face,
while the second rope, as a fore-and-aft stay, enabled the students
to pull the statue down into a horizontal position. As
soon as it was in a horizontal position, one of the Library tables
was run under the statue,—the pedestal at that time being

about the height of the tables (the present pedestal is a new
one, as the old one was burned); but, instantly, the great
weight of the marble crushed the table to the floor, and this
too, with no injury to the statue except a minor item, which is
today testified to by the chipped off hem of the cloak on the
right-hand side,—a matter too trifling for more than mere mention
when compared with the saving of the statue. Once on the
floor, the statue was turned over on its back and with the
ropes the boys began to haul it across the Library to the door
(just inside the window above the present main entrance to
the Library). This door was the only entrance and exit to the
Library, so it was necessarily crowded with those hurrying out
the books, pictures, etc., as the flames were now well in the
room, though the ladies, as well as the boys, laughed at the
flames and kept on with their work of saving the books, having
dipped their handkerchiefs in water and tied them over
mouth and nose, while they groped around through the smoke
looking for the books and pictures.

The statue had gotten just half in, half out of the Library
door and was jammed, as it was a bit long to make an easy
turn out to the narrow platform at the head of the staircase,
which led down around the curving wall to the present main
floor of the Library.

It was an awful scene. The smoke was so thick and dense
that one could not see twenty feet from him; the jingle of
glass which was being knocked and kicked out of the bookcases;
dozens of men and boys all shouting different things;
the crashing of beams accompanying the frequent explosions
of dynamite cartridges; the roar of the flames which were now
well in the room and cast a dull, red, fiendish glow over everything
through the smoke; the crackling of burning timbers;
all these things tended to make a veritable hell, when suddenly
there was a fearful explosion as though the Heavens had
been rent asunder. The next moment all was silent; we
were in total darkness; the whole earth seemed to tremble; the
Rotunda rocked; the voices hushed; the crashing and the
crackling of the beams was checked; but only for a moment;

"Great God!" one thought "we are lost". This silence lasted
for, and these things happened in less than a moment, for in
the next, while the Rotunda still rocked, the most awful yells
were heard; every pane of glass, not already broken had been
shattered by the force of the explosion, and with a terrific
crash the whole plaster ceiling of the dome of the Rotunda
came down to the floor. Everyone rushed for the single door,
there to find the statue half in, half out of the Library; there
was a jam, but the cooler heads quickly dispersed it. The
statue was gotten out on the staircase and step by step it was
carried down the western stairs, feet foremost. As the base
of the statue was eased over each step, it would gather momentum
and gaining speed would tear off the top edge of the next
step, while under the combined weight of the statue and
twenty to thirty of the students, the whole staircase would
tremble.

Safely down the stairs, it was slid along the floor and out
on the portico of the Rotunda, where mattresses, taken from
near-by rooms of the students, were laid on the marble steps,
and the statue was eased down to the Lawn out of the reach
of danger, there to be covered with a blanket until a canvas
could be procured for the purpose. It is conservatively estimated
that it took from ten to fifteen minutes to remove the
statue from the Library. Certain it is that it took a gang of
workmen with rollers, jacks and blocks, ropes, etc., half a day
to remove it from the Lawn to the Museum where it was
temporarily kept.

The cause of the explosion was the fifty pounds of dynamite
which Prof. Echols had carried to the roof in the meal bag,
and it is said that the report was heard fifteen miles in the
direction of the wind. It was a forlorn hope and had to
either blow everything loose and possibly save the Library,
or else it could only furnish food for the flames by reducing
the timbers to kindling; but Fortune was against us and it did
the latter. Every pane of glass remaining in the south and
west sides of the Museum at this time was broken by the force
of the explosion, and it was a mere miracle that the rash daring

RUINS OF ANNEX

View from North-west: Rotunda to right

THE HOUR-STRIKER.

This is now in the Bursar's strong room,—the tag carrying the following
inscription,—

"This is the original hammer which struck the hour of classes for
generations of students from the time of Jefferson until the fire of
1895. Presented by Will B. Tuttle, who recovered it just before the
dome of the Rotunda fell in. June 11, 1912."

deed of Prof. Echols and Mr. Bishop was not then and there
rewarded with death. The Rotunda was now well on fire
and it became necessary to keep the fire from communicating
to the houses of Prof. Buckmaster (now Prof. Lewis') and Prof.
Tuttle (now Prof. Faulkner's), for the heat was becoming intense,
but fortunately it was just about this time that the wind
changed and freshened very decidedly from the south, carrying
sparks and brands, it is said, as many as six miles to the
north of the University, and causing many small fires, among
which was Dr. Lambert's residence, and the stable of Dr.
Chancellor, both of which were soon extinguished.

The rooms on both sides of the Lawn were thrown open and
every blanket was taken from the beds, was hung over the
wooden eves of the two lawn residences above mentioned,
and kept wet in order to prevent them from taking fire from
the heat. Next a bucket-brigade was formed leading up
through each of these houses to the roof. From the rooms on
either side of the Lawn, the bucket-brigades were supplied with
pitchers, basins, buckets and, in fact, every domestic article
that would hold water, the water being drawn from the spigots
in the neighboring residences of the professors and the hydrants
in the rear of the Lawns.

Colonel Venable had been working along with "his boys" all
through the scene in the Library and when the statue was out,
he finally prevailed upon the boys to stop diving under his
arms into the flaming Library to rescue something more, so
taking one more look around for chance stragglers he cut a
notch in a stick and placed it across the double doors and went
down the western stairs, while some of the students, bent upon
getting out one more armful of books, went up the eastern
stairs to carry out their bent. Hardly had they arrived upon
the platform at the head of the steps and in front of the door,
when the doors flew open, drawn in by the draft, the stick
having in this short while burned. It was a magnificent sight
in that gigantic roaring furnace, as the fresh air rushed in and
cleared away the smoke; here the base of the marble statue,
there the pillars in the gallery; here the old iron railing from

the statue, there some dusty books left to their fate on the
shelves in the gallery; here a broken book-case on the floor and
there a perfect volcano of flame pouring into the Rotunda
from the Annex, and in a moment a cloud of smoke shutting
off everything from view. But the boys had not fooled the
Colonel, for that good man, used to the ways of men, had
watched us, and fearful for our safety, was once more at the
door of the Library, but this time firmly giving us to understand
that we must leave the Library; and so we reluctantly
went down the long curving stairs for the last time,
while the Colonel, the last one to leave the Library, followed
closely after us.

While the ladies and students were working in the bucket-lines,
Prof. Echols, Mr. Bishop, and Finch were busy with
dynamite blowing up the Old Chapel (Prof. Wilson's present
lecture room), and the Y. M. C. A. Reading Room (the present
Bursar's office), with a view to keeping the fire from
communicating to East and West Lawn, respectively. It was
while engaged in this work that Prof. Echols fell through the
roof of the Reading Room and broke his left hand, and a
Staunton fireman, named Smith, was also injured at the same
time. The fire had steadily enveloped the Rotunda, in spite
of all the efforts that could be brought to bear to check it, and
it was then that the fire got into the works of the clock and
that ancient timepiece stopped running at five minutes to
twelve o'clock, as is shown by photograps of the scene.

The fire was now in possession of everything,—Annex and
Rotunda,—and was threatening the Lawns, so there was
naught to do with the meagre fire-fighting facilities at hand
but to keep the flames under control and let them burn themselves
out. At one o'clock the Rotunda succumbed and when
the great dome caved in, there were tears in the eyes of the
hundreds of spectators, and the writer knows that the men at
the end of the bucket-line on Dr. Buckmaster's house all had
a hard cry. A few minutes later, the bell on the front portico,
came crashing down through the burning timbers, clanging
out a last death note, as it struck each obstruction in its path,—

THE LIBRARY.

Note Statue of Jefferson to left. Until Fayerwether Gymnasium opened in September,
1893, Final Balls danced here.—the orchestra starting "Home, Sweet Home," when
Sun appeared over Monticello Mountain.

the last note that old bell ever rang, for it was badly melted
by the heat and what was left was broken up and carried off
as souvenirs.

By half-past two o'clock it was considered that the fire was
under control, so at three o'clock the Faculty met in the Chemistry
lecture room to devise ways and means for carrying on the
work of the University without interruption, and at this meeting
all the members of the Faculty were present, except Prof.
Stone (detained) and Prof. Echols (injured); and Rector Randolph
and Mr. Armistead Gordon of the Board of Visitors,
were also present. The following is the schedule of how the
different classes met in that time of emergency:—[2]

                                     

MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY.
Hour	"Jeff." Hall	Temperance Hall (over Postoffice)	Museum	Museum (small room)	Prof's Office	"Wash." Hall
9 -10	B. A. Latin	B. A. History	M. A. Geology	M. A. German		Law Department
10 -11		M. A. Greek	A. Latin	B. A. German	M. A. Eng. Lit. M. A. Physics Spanish
11 -12½		M. A. History	M. A. Math.
12½-1½	B. A. Lit.			Mechanics
1½-2½		Astronomy	B. A. Greek	Hydraulics
2½-3½	Dinner
3½-5	[M. A. Lat.]		Moral Philosophy
	Chemistry quiz at usual hours in Anatomical Hall.
TUESDAY, THURSDAY AND SATURDAY.
9 -10	M. A. Latin	B. A. French	B. A. Geology	A. Math.	Early English	Law Department
10 -11	Polit. Econ.	M. A. French	A. Greek	B. A. German
11 -12½	Lecture in B. A. Physics in Chemical Laboratory.
12½-1½	A. Literature		Mod. Eng.
1½-2½	B. A. Math.	Astronomy
2½-3½	Dinner
3½-5			Moral Philosophy
Chairman's Office, No. 5 West Lawn.

The night of the fire, the Lawn was littered with books, instruments
from the different laboratories, book-cases, desks,
benches, and what-not, while near the steps of the Rotunda,
its recent home, lay the statue of Jefferson, enshrouded in a
large canvas and guarded by special watchmen. When the
moon came out, as though to take a last look at the pride of
Jefferson's latter days, it was a ghastly and a heart-rending
sight to see the blackened walls and hollow windows, and the
tall, white pillars, with their marble capitals all smoked up,
standing as silent sentinels, on the old portico, where had
stood so many of the men of note of this country, beneath the
shadow of the dome of the Old Rotunda, it was certainly a
sad, sad sight.

All night long the University mechanics, who had worked
so hard all day on the fire, kept saw and hammer and plane
going in order that the lecture rooms might be ready for
the morning lectures, and it was through the labors of Noreck
(he was not known as "president" Noreck in those days)
and his assistants that it was possible for the work to go on
as usual.

When we stop to think of it, one is inclined to think that
there must be some mistake about it, but it is, nevertheless,
true. Although the whole of the Academic Department, the
whole of the Law Department and the whole of the Engineering
Department, together with the University Library, were in
total and absolute ruin, yet it is a fact that the next morning
at 9 o'clock,—sadly enough, there was no bell to ring that
morning,—every class in the University met just as it had met
the week before. The only difference was that we sat in new
seats in new lecture rooms and everyone wore a fatigued,
worn-out, weary and sorrowful expression as though he had
lost his most valued friend,—and some there were in the
Faculty, who had. One might call this living up to University
of Virginia records with a vengeance, and it certainly was.

About the only change in the routine of college life here at
the University was that the T. I. L. K. A. Society postponed its

fall initiation from All Hallo'een night for two weeks, "out
of respect for the memory of the Rotunda"; and be it said
to the infinite credit of the student body that the University
probably never saw the time when lectures were better attended
than they were that day after the fire,—the boys
seemed to take a manly pride in showing that they were equal
to the occasion.

The monetary loss incurred by the fire was approximately
$175,000, while the insurance amounted to $25,000, distributed
as follows:

               

Rotunda	$ 8,000
Library and pictures	8,000
Annex	3,500
Scientific apparatus	3,500
School of Athens	1,000
Old Chapel	500
Y. M. C. A. Reading Room	500
Total	$25,000

The following is a list of those who received injuries while
fighting the fire:

Prof. Echols, hand broken and minor cuts and bruises caused
by falling through the roof of the Reading Room;

E. DeJarnette, cut and bruised and leg broken (?) by
breaking of rope being used to pull down roof of Old Chapel;

Eugene Davis, prostrated by heat;

Mr. Hall, of Washington State, ankle broken;

Chas. A. Haberlee, bruised, cut and back sprained by falling
through the roof of the Old Chapel;

A boy, named Murray, a leg broken by running to get out
of the way of a charge of dynamite;

J. J. Smith, a Staunton fireman, bruised and cut by falling
through the roof of the Old Chapel;

Frank Hunt, prostrated by heat;

Lloyd Williams, seriously prostrated by heat, and unconscious

THE FIRE

Note that clock stopped at five minutes to twelve o'clock.

and raving for several days after the fire, though he
soon recovered.

In every city in the state, crowds thronged the telegraph
offices, eager to hear the latest news from the scene of disaster.
When the news reached Richmond, it spread like wildfire
and was soon the only topic of conversation on the streets.
Men gathered in little knots on the corners and, turning back
the leaves of memory to the days when life on the old arcades
had instilled into them that peculiar love of alma mater, so
characteristics of the alumni of the University of Virginia, discussed
the latest details of news from the telegraph offices.
Some of the ministers alluded to the disaster that night: the
whole city, the whole state, and the entire South each seemed
to think that it had sustained a personal loss. And so it then
seemed, but not so, for come to-day and see the New Rotunda
like a phœnix risen from the ashes of the old.

When it had become evident that the fire was beyond the
control of the local fire-fighting facilities, a law student, named
Aubrey N. Bowers, of Henrico Co., suggested to Col. Venable
that telegrams, asking assistance, be sent to neighboring cities.
The Colonel approved this suggestion and the local chief
telegraphed to the Chiefs of Richmond, Lynchburg and Staunton,
requesting that help be sent. These messages were given
to Bowers to take to the telegraph office at the Junction, as
Anderson's was not yet open, though it opened later and
remained open all day. As it was a state institution, Bowers
wrote a message while at the Junction, appraising Governor
O'Ferrall of the state of affairs, asked that some of the
Richmond fire apparatus be sent up on a special train and
signed the message, "William M. Thornton, Chairman." He
later told Prof. Thornton of his action and that gentleman
approved it.

To Staunton, went the message, "University on fire: beyond
our control: water out: send fire department."
Staunton, which had no fire engine at that time, but depended
upon gravity pressure, sent a plentiful supply of hose and

fifteen men, who arrived on No. 4 about noon and did good
work.

A similar message to Lynchburg brought a special train,
bearing an engine, hose and men. The engine took up a position
on the skating pond, and did excellent work in spite of
the handicap of having to pump through a long line of hose
up the steep hill.

The Richmond Fire Department received the message to
Chief Puller at 11:30 A. M. It read, "Please send a fire engine
at once. The Rotunda and Public Hall on fire and the
University in danger."

(Signed)

T. J. Williams,
Chief Fire Department, Charlottesville.

Mr. Minor, in charge of Fire Headquarters in Richmond, at
once notified Chief Puller, who was at church, but in the
meanwhile Assistant Chief Shaw had been telephoned to by
Governor O'Ferrall, and the Assistant Chief had notified President
Frischcorn of the Fire Commissioners for permission to
send apparatus out of the city and had at the same time telephoned
Mr. C. C. Walker, Assistant Superintendent of the C.
& O., that they needed a special train immediately. Chief
Puller telegraphed Charlottesville as to water supply and received
a reply saying that it was bad and suggesting that he
send a chemical engine, but his experience told him that a
chemical engine would be of little use at a fire like that, so at
12:05 P. M., steamer No. 3, with firemen and 1,500 feet of
hose left Fire Headquarters for the old Broad Street Station
of the C. & O.[3]

As soon as Mr. Walker received the telephone message
telling him that a special train was needed, he left his home
and impressed the first vehicle that he came across, which happened
to be a hack, and told the driver to get him to Broad
Street Station just as fast as he could do it. While the yard
engine was making up an "extra" of a couple of flats and a day

coach, Mr. Walker went out to the roundhouse and got the
fastest passenger engine that was under steam. When the
firemen arrived at the station, they found the train waiting
with white flags set. It was now but the work of a few
minutes to load the apparatus, and at 12:44,—one hour and
fourteen minutes after the receipt of the first telegram in
Richmond,—the special was on its way to Charlottesville at
sixty-five miles an hour and with right of way over everything.
A stop was made for a moment at Beaver Dam for
orders and Assistant Chief Shaw telegraphed the Charlottesville
authorities to have horses at the station for the engine and
hose wagon.

When she swung around the long gradual curve going into
Gordonsville, the engineer sighted the "red board" hanging
across the track, so he applied his brakes in emergency,
but the train did not stop until she had run several hundred
feet beyond the station. Upon returning to the platform,
they found a telegram to Mr. Walker saying that their services
were no longer needed, as the flames had won the race and destroyed
everything in their path. The special returned to
Richmond, arriving there at 5:30 that afternoon, and the C.
& O. R. R. very generously declined to make any charge for
the services of the train, as did also the Southern Railroad for
the special train from Lynchburg.

The night after the fire, there was a great mass-meeting of
the officers, professors and students of the University in the
Chapel,—"a family gathering," said Mr. Thornton, Chairman,
who had called the meeting for the purpose of mutual encouragement
and for making to the students some fitting
official acknowledgment of their heroic efforts of the day before:
professors spoke encouraging their confreres in the
Faculty and commending the courage of the students; students
spoke promising hearty co-operation with the Faculty to
enable them to carry on the work of the University uninterruptedly,
and commended the rash daring of fellow-students.
Curiously enough, no mention was made of thanking the

ladies for the part they had taken in the work of the day before.
The Chairman was on his feet making the closing
speech.

Finally a student, over yonder in one of the choir-seats,
arose and with faltering voice and trembling limbs, stammered
out a motion "that a vote of thanks be tendered by the student-body
of the University, there assembled, to the ladies
of the University and Charlottesville for the valuable assistance
they had rendered in handling water along the bucket-lines;
for their noble examples which had stimulated the boys
on to their work, and for their unceasing, noble, untiring and
heroic work in saving the contents of the Library."

Before the motion could be completed, the throng broke into
a great cheer, for each one seemed to realize what had been
left undone, and the speaker had to sit down. Needless to say,
there were as many seconds as there were votes for the motion.

A good many of the professors spoke at the mass-meeting,—
in the following order (?), as well as can be ascertained:—
Profs. Thornton, Peters, Noah K. Davis, Mallet, Barringer,
Tuttle, Lile, Venable, Echols (amidst prolonged applause),
Fontaine, and Dunnington.

Certain it is that no occasion ever gathered into the Chapel
such a throng as packed the building that Monday night, and
all went away with revived spirits and a determination to live
up to any emergency that the conditions might bring about,
and right nobly did both students and professors sacrifice
themselves to all sorts of inconveniences without even a murmur.

It may be of interest to note in passing that, as there was
no other place sufficiently large, the Final Exercises of that
session were held in the Chapel; and when Penton, long Virginia's
greatest foot-ball star, walked up to get his M. D. Degree,
the Long Yell rang lustily through the arched roof over
head.

While the day was full of woe and grief, there were also
many ludicrous happenings.

Take, for instance, the lady, who rushed into the Library and
threw out of a window the pitcher and basin, which Librarian
Page used for washing his hands, and then brought down
stairs a box of large Manila envelopes. There was also the
sister-in-law of one of the professors who procured a gallon
jug of whiskey from somewhere, and did splendid service in
resuscitating three men (whether students or townspeople, I
do not know), who took it turn about wallowing in a mud-puddle
behind the Rotunda and then letting the other two
bring him up to the jug to be revived. And so these three
men managed to get rid of the gallon of whiskey, which the
benevolent and philanthropic lady dispersed with so lavish
a hand.

Again, take the case of the wife of a professor, who in her
ardor emptied the scrap-basket into her silken skirt and took
the contents far down the Lawn and deposited them in a place
of safety.

There was the case of some rare old wine, stored in the
attic of Dr. Buckmaster's house (Prof. Lewis' present
house). It was noticed by those at the end of the bucket-line
running up through this house that, the man at the trap-door
was constantly changing, but nothing was thought of it until
Dr. Buckmaster invited us to a repast of light refreshments,
when he discovered that there was no "rare old wine" in the
house, or any other kind, for that matter, and then it dawned
upon us, who had been at the end of the line, why the man at
the trap-door was constantly changing.

When the news of the fire had permeated into Charlottesville
as a real fact, the people were well on their way to church,
Someone got word to the Rev. Harry Lee, who was holding
services at the Midway School House (for the Episcopal
Church was being rebuilt at that time), that the University
was on fire, so the reverend gentleman offered up a prayer,
asking that the Rotunda be spared, straightway dismissed his
congregation and hastened to the University to join the firefighters.

It is said that, while the work of salvage in the Library was

at its height, the venerable Professor of Logic and Phychology
was seen making remarkably good speed down the Lawn with
a rare old canvas on his shoulder and the picture turned out
to be that of,—Prof. Noah K. Davis.

The following Christmas, a party of students was standing
on the platform at Gordonsville, waiting for a train, homeward
bound; and by the way, it might be well to note that that
was the first time that the student of the University of Virginia
ever knew what it was to have Christmas Holiday, for
prior to that time, Christmas Day was the only day in the session
that the students could call a holiday. One or two old
darkies lounging around the platform got to talking to the
boys, and the conversation naturally turned to the fire,
"Yessa," said an old uncle, "Missa Jones,—he de gemman
ober dar to de telegraf office,—he say dat de Newniversty was
on fi' and dat de fi' train was a-comin', so we niggers jes' set
'round hwer' and arter awhile,—jes'es she was a-blowin' for de
station,—down yonder to de county line,—Missa Jones he
got a message sayin' dat de Newniversy was out en to stop
'er, so he gib'er de red bode, but, gemman, she run two hundred
yards by de station 'fore she cud stop,—she was jes'aflyin',
she wus, and dat big eengine a-settin' up dar on de
flat-car! She jes' look like a car-load full o' di'mon's sot on
fi' een de middle, but dey tell me she wus a nigger (nickle)
plated eengine. Lord, but she wus flyin'!" "'Board," yelled
the conductor, and we were off for Richmond and a week's
vacation.

THE LAWN

Littered with books, instruments, book-cases, desks, and what-not

ROTUNDA AND ANNEX

View from East showing roof (behind pole) through which fire
reached Rotunda.