"For God's sake, get down to that one who's alive," implored O'Neill, almost in despair.
The policemen pulled off their heavy overcoats and worked frantically at the heap. Often a body could not be moved except when the firemen and police dragged with a "yo, heave," like sailors hauling on a rope. As fast as the bodies were freed one policeman, or sometimes two or three, would stagger down the stairs with their burdens.
Over the heap of bodies crawled a fireman carrying something in his arms.
"Out of the way, men, let me out! The kid's alive."
The workers fell back and the fireman crawled over the heap and was helped out. He ran down the stairs three steps at a time to get the child to a place where help might be given before it was too late. Then other firemen from inside the theater passed out more bodies, which were handed from one policeman to another until some on the outside of the heap could take the dead and carry them downstairs.
Suddenly a policeman pulling at the heap gave a shout.
"I've got her, chief!" he said. "She's alive, all right!"
"Easy there, men, easy," cried Schuettler; "but hurry and get that woman to a doctor!"
A girl, apparently 18 years old, was moaning faintly. The policeman released her from the tangled heap, and a big fireman, lifting her tenderly in his arms, hurried with her to the outside of the building.
"There must be more alive," said the chief. "Work hard, boys."