Abstracts from the Boston American The Chelsea Fire of 1908

Abstracts from the Boston American:
The Great Chelsea Fire: April 12, 1908

Hardley a wall left standing in the Heart of Chelsea.
Huge building stones crumbled to dust.
Great fissures torn in streets by the heat.

It is impossible to describe the scene of total devastation and utter desolation that came within the notice of a Boston American reporter as he travelled miles and miles of streets in Chelsea last evening after the fire had mowed to the ground the whole heart of Chelsea. Not a single house in the vast district was saved. In fact, in the great majority of cases, nothing is left but the stone foundations of the buildings.

For hours the reporter travelled amid such scenes. The intense heat had crumbled thousands of houses to dust within the space of a few short hours. The streets are filled with debris, telegraph poles, trees and wires twisted and turned into every shape. The streets where upturned granite curb stones crumbled to dust and brick structures in most instances tumbled to the ground without leaving even a portion of the walls standing.

How the thousands of persons who occupied these homes ever got away with their lives is hard to understand, for on every side, one met with evidences showing that houses were leveled to the ground within a few minutes. The flames spread so rapidily through these miles of streets that the residents evidently made no attempt to save their household furniture, for aside from the telegraph poles, trees and walls of the building, the reporter didn't find a single bit of household effects in the streets on Bellingham Hill.

The heat was so intense that it baked the earth in countless places and tore great fissures in it as if by an earthquake. Telegraph poles and trees were eaten off at their base and tumbled into the street. Flagstones which had been eighteen inches thick crumbled into dust in many places and in hundreds of instances were cracked as straight as if drilled.

In hundreds of instances there wasn't even a sign of a timber standing that held together a frame house. The heat was so intense everything crumbled to dust. Few, if any, of the walls of the brick buildings remained standing. They just crumbled and fell.

An instance of the rapidity with which the flames swept through the district is shown by an abandoned fire engine which stood at the corner of Central Avenue and Highland Street. Every valve was opened showing that the machine was running at its capacity when the flames suddenly burst upon the engineer, who fled for his life without heeding to his charge.

An expert engineer, who got by the Militia by some subterfuge, was examining the machine when the Boston American reporter came along. He gave it as his opinion that the flames were so intense and making such progress that the engineer abandoned his engine while it was pumping at capacity.

In the two score or more streets that the reporter travelled he met but a dozen people, and they were sightseers who had stolen by the Militia lines. For fully one half hour the reporter walked amid these scenes of devastation, with the roaring of the flames along the waterfront on the east side and on the west side plainly heard, but not a human sole in sight.

Suddenly from out of what appeared to be a smoldering mass of debris, a cat appeared. The animal darted accross the street and in an instant was lost.

Working his way through the tangled mass of wires and debris, the reporter reached Central Avenue at a point about 200 yards from the site of the City Hall. A thick smoke filled the air and in the darkness the writer had to literally creep along pace by pace. Suddenely a soft object in the water came into contact with the reporter's foot. Almost simultaneously a human voice came to the writer's ear and the next instant a small boy was picking himself up from the parched street. Before the reporter could speak the youngster reached over and shook a second form that now appeared saying, "Arthur, get up."

The lads proved to be Arthur and Tommy Regan. Exhausted by their hours of travel through the burned district, searching for their parents, these homeless boys, both under ten years of age, made their way back to the site of their home, and although the atmosphere was filled with smoke that made one's eyes smart, and choked one, yet these lads lay down on the hot earth and fell asleep.

"My mamma and papa are alive, but in the crowd we lost them," said the youngest lad, seven years old. "We walked around for hours but couldn't find them. Mamma will think we are dead and will cry, I wish I could find her." The youngsters, upon the advise of the reporter, started towards police headquarters to locate their parents.

Looking up Highland Street from Central Avenue, on an elevation, are the remains of what had been a beautiful schoolhouse. Nothing but the four ghastly walls remain. On every side were smoldering ruins. As the reporter passed on, he noticed the foundation of a building. Save for a foot of smoldering debris there wasn't another thing in site. The foundation was as clearly outlined as if it had been built yesterday. The debris that lay at the bottom could be carted away in one load of an average size dumpcart. The building simply crumbled into dust when the flames hit it.

At the further end of Central Avenue within 200 feet of the bridge leading to East Boaton, an ancient handtub was lying on the edge of the street. The machine had evidently been stored in a building in that vicinity, and when the flames began to sweep towards that section some volunteers started with the tub to aid in attempting to check the progress of the flames.

From all appearance it would seem that in the interval of getting out the tub and running it up Central Avenue about 200 feet, the flames had made such progress that the volunteers realized the hopeless task and abandoned it. Rather than have it block up the street, they ran it up onto the sidewalk and started it down over the embankment.

Just over the west of Central Avenue a varnish factory was being eaten up by the flames. The highly combustible material fed the flames that leaped a hundred feet into the air. The Boston and Albany bridge, which is almost to the left of Central Avenue, was ablaze and was rapidly becoming a mass of charred timbers.

In some manner not explained, the draw of the foot bridge leading to East Boston had been opened. Between the bridges were two steam yachts tied up and housed for the winter. At eight o'clock when the American reporter was driven from the scene by the intense heat and fumes from the fire in the oil works to the east of the bridge, the smaller yacht had burned to its water edge.

With its cabins housed over, a ninety foot steam yacht not twenty-five feet away lay uninjured. This is only one of the 100 freak incidents that came to the reporters notice. To the east of Central Avenue, along the front of Chelsea River was a score of small oil tanks that had been consumed by the fire. The oil had evidently been burned up, for the crumpled metal of the tanks was all that were left. Two hundred yards from this point, the flames were so intense that a human being could not stand.

By a circuitous route the reporter reached Central Avenue at the site of City Hall and Shurtleff School. Only the walls fronting on Central Avenue were standing while directly across the street portions of the walls of the Baptist Church were standing. At Bellingham Station and Broadway devastation ruled. All along both sides of Broadway houses were levelled. Going up Broadway toward the railroad bridge, the walls of the Public Library, the new Armory and St. Rose's Catholic Church were all that stood above the ground. A few feet west of the church ended the path of the fire. The deep cut of fifty feet in which the Boston and Maine railroad ran saved Prattville and the westerly sections of the city from being destroyed.

Just below the railroad bridge, on Washington Avenue, to the east, were houses that were unscorched. These were the only two houses directly in the path of the flames that were not destroyed. From the railroad tracks to Second Street it was the same story. Everything was swept away. In this section, which were inhabited by the poorer class, frantic efforts were made to save household effects, but they were obliged to abandon them in the streets, where everything was consumed.

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Chelsea Historical Society

1908 Fire Pictures page 1

1908 Fire Pictures page 2

1973 Fire Story

1973 Fire Pictures

Abstracts from the Boston American: The Great Chelsea Fire: April 12, 1908
*Hardley a wall left standing in the Heart of Chelsea.* Huge building stones crumbled to dust. *Great fissures torn in streets by the heat.* It is impossible to describe the scene of total devastation and utter desolation that came within the notice of a Boston American reporter as he travelled miles and miles of streets in Chelsea last evening after the fire had mowed to the ground the whole heart of Chelsea. Not a single house in the vast district was saved. In fact, in the great majority of cases, nothing is left but the stone foundations of the buildings. For hours the reporter travelled amid such scenes. The intense heat had crumbled thousands of houses to dust within the space of a few short hours. The streets are filled with debris, telegraph poles, trees and wires twisted and turned into every shape. The streets where upturned granite curb stones crumbled to dust and brick structures in most instances tumbled to the ground without leaving even a portion of the walls standing. How the thousands of persons who occupied these homes ever got away with their lives is hard to understand, for on every side, one met with evidences showing that houses were leveled to the ground within a few minutes. The flames spread so rapidily through these miles of streets that the residents evidently made no attempt to save their household furniture, for aside from the telegraph poles, trees and walls of the building, the reporter didn't find a single bit of household effects in the streets on Bellingham Hill. The heat was so intense that it baked the earth in countless places and tore great fissures in it as if by an earthquake. Telegraph poles and trees were eaten off at their base and tumbled into the street. Flagstones which had been eighteen inches thick crumbled into dust in many places and in hundreds of instances were cracked as straight as if drilled. In hundreds of instances there wasn't even a sign of a timber standing that held together a frame house. The heat was so intense everything crumbled to dust. Few, if any, of the walls of the brick buildings remained standing. They just crumbled and fell. An instance of the rapidity with which the flames swept through the district is shown by an abandoned fire engine which stood at the corner of Central Avenue and Highland Street. Every valve was opened showing that the machine was running at its capacity when the flames suddenly burst upon the engineer, who fled for his life without heeding to his charge. An expert engineer, who got by the Militia by some subterfuge, was examining the machine when the Boston American reporter came along. He gave it as his opinion that the flames were so intense and making such progress that the engineer abandoned his engine while it was pumping at capacity. In the two score or more streets that the reporter travelled he met but a dozen people, and they were sightseers who had stolen by the Militia lines. For fully one half hour the reporter walked amid these scenes of devastation, with the roaring of the flames along the waterfront on the east side and on the west side plainly heard, but not a human sole in sight. Suddenly from out of what appeared to be a smoldering mass of debris, a cat appeared. The animal darted accross the street and in an instant was lost. Working his way through the tangled mass of wires and debris, the reporter reached Central Avenue at a point about 200 yards from the site of the City Hall. A thick smoke filled the air and in the darkness the writer had to literally creep along pace by pace. Suddenely a soft object in the water came into contact with the reporter's foot. Almost simultaneously a human voice came to the writer's ear and the next instant a small boy was picking himself up from the parched street. Before the reporter could speak the youngster reached over and shook a second form that now appeared saying, "Arthur, get up." The lads proved to be Arthur and Tommy Regan. Exhausted by their hours of travel through the burned district, searching for their parents, these homeless boys, both under ten years of age, made their way back to the site of their home, and although the atmosphere was filled with smoke that made one's eyes smart, and choked one, yet these lads lay down on the hot earth and fell asleep. "My mamma and papa are alive, but in the crowd we lost them," said the youngest lad, seven years old. "We walked around for hours but couldn't find them. Mamma will think we are dead and will cry, I wish I could find her." The youngsters, upon the advise of the reporter, started towards police headquarters to locate their parents. Looking up Highland Street from Central Avenue, on an elevation, are the remains of what had been a beautiful schoolhouse. Nothing but the four ghastly walls remain. On every side were smoldering ruins. As the reporter passed on, he noticed the foundation of a building. Save for a foot of smoldering debris there wasn't another thing in site. The foundation was as clearly outlined as if it had been built yesterday. The debris that lay at the bottom could be carted away in one load of an average size dumpcart. The building simply crumbled into dust when the flames hit it. At the further end of Central Avenue within 200 feet of the bridge leading to East Boaton, an ancient handtub was lying on the edge of the street. The machine had evidently been stored in a building in that vicinity, and when the flames began to sweep towards that section some volunteers started with the tub to aid in attempting to check the progress of the flames. From all appearance it would seem that in the interval of getting out the tub and running it up Central Avenue about 200 feet, the flames had made such progress that the volunteers realized the hopeless task and abandoned it. Rather than have it block up the street, they ran it up onto the sidewalk and started it down over the embankment. Just over the west of Central Avenue a varnish factory was being eaten up by the flames. The highly combustible material fed the flames that leaped a hundred feet into the air. The Boston and Albany bridge, which is almost to the left of Central Avenue, was ablaze and was rapidly becoming a mass of charred timbers. In some manner not explained, the draw of the foot bridge leading to East Boston had been opened. Between the bridges were two steam yachts tied up and housed for the winter. At eight o'clock when the American reporter was driven from the scene by the intense heat and fumes from the fire in the oil works to the east of the bridge, the smaller yacht had burned to its water edge. With its cabins housed over, a ninety foot steam yacht not twenty-five feet away lay uninjured. This is only one of the 100 freak incidents that came to the reporters notice. To the east of Central Avenue, along the front of Chelsea River was a score of small oil tanks that had been consumed by the fire. The oil had evidently been burned up, for the crumpled metal of the tanks was all that were left. Two hundred yards from this point, the flames were so intense that a human being could not stand. By a circuitous route the reporter reached Central Avenue at the site of City Hall and Shurtleff School. Only the walls fronting on Central Avenue were standing while directly across the street portions of the walls of the Baptist Church were standing. At Bellingham Station and Broadway devastation ruled. All along both sides of Broadway houses were levelled. Going up Broadway toward the railroad bridge, the walls of the Public Library, the new Armory and St. Rose's Catholic Church were all that stood above the ground. A few feet west of the church ended the path of the fire. The deep cut of fifty feet in which the Boston and Maine railroad ran saved Prattville and the westerly sections of the city from being destroyed. Just below the railroad bridge, on Washington Avenue, to the east, were houses that were unscorched. These were the only two houses directly in the path of the flames that were not destroyed. From the railroad tracks to Second Street it was the same story. Everything was swept away. In this section, which were inhabited by the poorer class, frantic efforts were made to save household effects, but they were obliged to abandon them in the streets, where everything was consumed.

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Chelsea Historical Society	1908 Fire Pictures page 1	1908 Fire Pictures page 2
	1973 Fire Story	1973 Fire Pictures