I might add that I also made a test of the temperature of the products issuing from the chimney, and found it to be about 300° F. This is surprisingly low, considering the high temperature of the retort (2500° to 2800° F.), and indicates a most excellently designed furnace, utilizing as it does so large a percentage of the heat. About one-fourth of the heat of boiler furnaces goes up the chimney.
The process of cremation invented by Joseph Venini, of Milan, Italy, is used in the crematorium of Buffalo, N. Y. The process consists of two parts: first, the generation of gas; and second, the cremation proper. The apparatus is constructed with a gas generator (A), which is a simple fire-pot about four feet in a vertical measurement and two laterally, and is located in the basement of the crematory. The air for combustion is admitted through a grate in the bottom, and is not sufficient to allow of the combustion of the entire mass of small wood which is heaped on the fire. The result is that the fire at the bottom distils the wood at the top, and the gases of distillation and combustion of wood are carried to the back end of the incinerating chamber (B), which is on the main floor. Here these gases are met by air heated in a chamber (C) outside of the furnace, where the two are ignited by a fire (D) which is kept burning just under their point of union. The Bunsen flame (E) thus produced is thrown quite across the incinerating chamber; thence it is carried back beneath the retort by the flue (F) into the basement to a chimney, which is about 40 feet high, and so to the open air. A certain amount of gas is also burned in the flue (F) beneath the incinerating retort and also at the bottom of the chimney. It will be seen from this description the Bunsen burners play directly upon the subject, and by their heat liberate the gases of the body, which gases, being burned in the retort, are carried into the flue beneath; here another Bunsen flame (H) ignites such combustible material as has not been consumed in the retort, and at the foot of the chimney the third Bunsen burner, which is not represented in the illustration, finishes the combustion. To heat the apparatus requires an hour and a quarter, and when the temperature is 2500° to 3000° F., the body is placed in the furnace, and in about an hour is cremated. The amount of fuel used is little more than half a cord of wood, or its equivalent.
The furnace which will be used at the Cincinnati crematorium is on a novel system devised by Mr. M. R. Conway. After the fire is lighted, steam is generated by means of pipes situated in the flues; this steam passes up through the center wall of the furnace and is distributed over the incandescent coke. In its passage it gathers air enough to supply the required oxygen. It also brings with it the gases generated from the body being incinerated, and all these gases are regenerated into an intense heat in the combustion chamber; making a perfectly odorless furnace.
I quote from a pamphlet written by an “eye-witness” of cremation, who had before looked upon it with repugnance, but who on witnessing it became a most earnest advocate:—
“A furnace fire is built and kept burning for 20 or 30 hours before the cremation is to take place. Immediately above the fire is placed in a horizontal position a cylinder of clay called the incinerator, three feet in diameter by seven feet long. This fire-clay incinerator, the walls of which are from one to two inches thick, receives to itself the intense heat of the fire below, but does not admit the flames. The consequence is that the body, when placed in the incinerator, is not, in a proper sense of the word, burned. It is reduced to ashes by the chemical application of intense heat. Gases are driven off or absorbed, and being carried down into the fire from the incinerator and led back and forth 25 feet through its flames, are utterly consumed. Even the smoke of the fire is consumed, and nothing can be seen issuing from the chimney but the quiver of the heat. The process might be called, as we have said, the spiritualization of the body, the etherealization or sublimation of its material parts.
“When the incinerator has been raised to a white heat, it is ready for the reception of the remains. As the cover is removed from its mouth, the in-rushing air cools it from a white to a red heat, and the whole inner surface is filled with a beautiful rosy light which is fascinating to the eye. It looks like the blush of dawn upon the sky, or like the exquisite tints which sometimes flicker along the aurora borealis. There is nothing repulsive about it, and nothing, as has been said, to suggest the idea of fire except the intense heat.
“The body, being decently clad for burial and tenderly laid in the crib provided for the purpose, is wholly covered with a clean, white sheet which has been dipped in a solution of alum. The effect of this is to entirely prevent smoke or fumes or flame, which would otherwise arise from putting anything inflammable into the midst of such a heat; but, under its protection, even the extraordinary heat of the incinerator does not produce upon the body the appearance of scorching or smoking or anything of the sort. There is no such impression as that of burning made upon the eye. The sheet, saturated with alum, retains its original position over the crib, and conceals the entire form until nothing but the bones are left; and when the eye first rests upon the remains after they are left in the rosy light of the cylinder, it sees nothing but these bones gently crumbling away into dust under the mystic touch of an invisible agent, whose only appearance to the eye is like the tremor of the northern lights in the sky; or, more exactly, the radiation of heat from the earth beneath the summer’s sun.
“You have laid a white-robed form within the rosy cylinder, and have turned away to think with gratitude that all is well. You have let your imagination dwell lovingly upon the pleasing sentiment that whatever may be left—beside the calcined bones, most pure and clean—has gone to mingle with the upper air and dwell with sunshine, birds, and flowers. The darkness and the dampness of the earth have been escaped, and so have the perils of grave-snatching, the indecencies of a possible dissecting-room, and the nameless horrors of putrefaction. You have pleasant memories to cherish of the ‘last sad hour,’ which, instead of ‘breathless darkness’ and the ‘narrow house’ and the dreadful thud of falling earth upon the coffin, presents to mind a lovely bed of rosy light, and a peaceful form clad in virgin purity resting within its soft embrace. If a lily had been laid upon a bed of pinks or roses, in the summer, and you had seen its fragrance and its beauty all exhale amid the shimmering beams or radiated heat beneath the touch of some invisible and gentle agency, you would have had a not dissimilar experience. And this is neither painful to the eye, nor distressing to the sensibilities, nor ungrateful to the memory.”
The following beautiful description of a cremation of the future is from the Modern Age for January, 1884, a journal which, alas! was discontinued for lack of support:—
“It is not a disagreeable journey on which we now propose to take our readers. It is to witness the final disposition of a friend’s remains in the ideal crematory of the future—science having already perfected the mechanical appliances necessary in conducting it in the way we describe. Our friend has died, and through the usual announcements we learn that the last rites will be performed in the columbarium at a given hour. Repairing thither at the appointed time, we first pass through a grove of stately trees, the soothing murmur of whose rustling leaves brings peace and quiet into the hearts of those who mourn and gather to pay the last tribute. Within the grove stands a massive building of gray masonry whose architecture shows no striving after ornamental effect, and whose solid proportions give a sense of eternal permanency. A few small windows in a simple frieze which crowns its walls do not destroy this effect, and their plain stained glass clashes in nowise with the harmony of color between the sky, the trees, and the gray stone of the temple of rest. About the Doric pillars of its portico green vines twine fondly as if they, too, would do their share in robbing death of all its hideousness. To this place loving hands have borne the body of our friend. No coffin lends its horror to the journey from this earthly home to here, where eternal sleep awaits him. A flower-strewn bier gives poetic carriage for this short and final journey. Entering the broad portal, the soft, deep notes of an organ charm the ear. The eye takes in a most imposing sight. The entire interior of the building is one impressive room, with walls, floor, ceiling, all of white and spotless marble. The view is not a dazzling one, for the light is subdued and comes in varied color through the windows at the top. On either side of the chamber stand a few memorial statues,—real works of art,—each one of them keeping alive the memory of some one who in his life was either good or great. Many of the marble slabs in the sides and floor of the temple bear in plain, sunken letters, a name and two dates. Behind or beneath them are niches containing urns where rest the pure white ashes of the beloved dead. On a simple dais in the middle of the room lays the body of our beloved friend. The hour has come, and about it are gathered those who knew and loved him while he lived. The scene, the surroundings, the subdued music of the organ, the absence of everything to jar upon the taste or senses, brings on a mood of solemn contemplation. No thought of physical corruption jars upon our memories of the dead. The opening words of the speaker are said, a hidden choir harmoniously chants of hope and life, and now the end has come. With the words ‘ashes to ashes’ a white pall is thrown over the dais, and we have looked upon our friend for the last time. The dais noiselessly sinks from sight, a short hour is spent in listening to a funeral oration, or in contemplation, until the dais, still covered with the pall, rises from below. The pall removed, we see upon the dais an urn—provided beforehand, and containing the ashes of our friend. This is now sealed into one of the niches, and the ceremony is over. This is not pure imagination. Modern invention has now robbed incineration of all its objectionable features. Never till of late years could the world well and simply solve the problem of what to do with its dead. The whole process is carried on as we have pictured, and without a single revolting feature in any part of it.”