The Great Fire of Hamburg

Of all the phenomena attending the great fire at Hamburg, Germany, in May, 1842, the most impressive was the simultaneous ringing, for a time, of all the great bells in the city, by the currents of air which the fire produced. Each of the large churches rang on its own chimes its funeral knell. The magnificent church of St. Nicholas, erected in the 12th century, and covering a space 370 by 140 feet, had a square tower surmounted by a spire,--in all 360 feet high. A writer in the Westminster Review says: "When this spire began to burn, its appearance was that of a magnificent torch in the midst of a wide-spreading sea of fire; and, as the flames climbed toward the pinnacle, every eye in Hamburg was directed to the church, and all personal anxieties were forgotten for the moment in the interest excited by the approaching catastrophe. That interest was painfully increased when the chimes of the tower began mournfully to perform its funeral dirge. The last tones of the bells, untuned by the expansion from the heat, came upon the ear as a cry of suffering, and it was a relief to the spectators when it ceased. The sheets of copper with which the sides of the spire were plated, were seen to peel off, and glowing with a red heat, floated away in the air. Soon after, it inclined from the perpendicular, and fell, with a tremendous crash, to the ground."

St. Peter's, a church valued for its architectural beauty as well as for its being a relic of the 12th century, made a hard fight for its life. It had a lofty tower, surmounted by a pyramid, and contained many beautiful works of art. Two hundred persons worked unceasingly to save it. Houses near by were blown up with gunpowder, and "the cannon of the Hanoverian artillery," the same writer adds, "were fired against others, but with no useful result. During the night of Friday, the heated woodwork several times burst into flames, and, although as often extinguished, the heat became so intense that about nine in the morning it was necessary to abandon the church to its fate. A scene similar to that of the burning of St. Nicholas was renewed; again the green and yellow flames rose high above the summit, the bells tolled their own departure, and when the steeple broke off from the tower, it buried itself many feet in the earth from the violence of its fall."

Another phenomenon was the burning of the piles in the various canals and in the Alster River. According to a writer in the London Times, these piles, used for the mooring of boats, caught fire in such rapid succession that they presented the effect of an intentional illumination of the street with huge flambeaux set up on end.

A third remarkable occurrence was the saving of the New Exchange in the midst of the burnt district, although the copper roof of the building had become so hot as to burn the shoes of the men working there.

An amusing incident was the adjournment of the Senate, for the first time in its history, without the formality of a seconded motion. The Senate, or supreme legislative assembly of Hamburg, had met and voted (in view of the disastrous character the fire had already assumed, and the probable necessity of voting on urgent measures of relief, etc.) not to adjourn until the flames had been finally extinguished. When the church of St. Nicholas fell, it became evident that nothing could save the Senate House; and, as the public treasure was all contained in the vaults underneath, the fire-fighting authorities determined to blow up the building. They hastily sent for the powder, and then gave notice to the Senate of what had been done. The Senators, regardless of their resolution to sit the conflagration out, and without waiting to move, second, and vote an adjournment, hastily threw papers, hats, gowns, and other personal effects together, and scampered from the building, the blasting powder being carried into their chamber by the military engineers just as the last Senator was making his hasty exit.

In a few minutes more the Senate House was a mere heap of stones and dust.