Philip: The Story of a Boy Violinist

by Virginia C. Young; Mary C. Hungerford

They remembered afterwards how calm he was, and that he looked back and smiled encouragement over his shoulder as he rapidly led the way towards the back of the stage; but the flames had made great headway in the short time since they were first discovered, and the narrow passageways behind the wings were filled with smoke. For an instant Philip hesitated, but glancing back he saw that there was no hope of escape through the house, which was filled with a pushing, struggling mass of terrified men and women. He turned again, bidding the others follow him, and they obeyed; but when he had led them to the back of the stage, in the very direction in which the fire was approaching, Marion shrank back and refused to follow.

“But you will die if you stay,” exclaimed Philip, seizing her arm and drawing her forcibly along, and at the same time calling to the others to follow, which they did, pale and trembling, but never attempting to question his wisdom in leading them through a door at which the flames were already darting.

“I cannot go there, I cannot!” screamed Marion, pulling back and looking toward the auditorium, where the struggling people were packed closer and closer about the door, and where terrible cries of anguish told that the bitterness of death was coming to some upon whom the stronger and fiercer trampled, without waiting for the flames they were fleeing from.

There was no hope there, and Philip knew there was no time to be lost, so he half lifted, half dragged Marion through the door, still resisting, but half fainting with terror. There was a long lobby to go through, then another door to open, and they found themselves in a small triangular room in which was one window and another door opening upon a narrow staircase, which led directly to one of the outer doors. To this door Philip sprang as they entered the little apartment, but, alas! it was securely locked and the key withdrawn; he made one mad effort to force the door, but it offered the firmest resistance. Then he remembered that at rehearsal the manager had given him a key, that he might leave the building by that door after his last piece should be played, if he chose not to wait for the end of the concert. Unhappily, instead of putting the key in his pocket, he had carried it to his dressing-room, and now he remembered distinctly having thrown it upon the table.

There was one appalling moment of dismay for them all, then Lillie said solemnly:

“Go and try to save yourself, Philip; perhaps you can find a way out if you have not us to take care of.”

“I will save you yet,” said Philip with quiet determination. “I will go for the key,” and he rushed away from them through the narrow passage toward the stage, where the fire now roared and thundered with a fury indescribable. His dressing-room could be reached by a short hallway behind the stage. It was chokingly full of thick, black smoke, but, holding his breath, he dashed through it and gained the place he sought. The dressing-room was also full of smoke, but he seized the key and rushed again to the passage. In that instant of time fire had taken the place of smoke, and it seemed as if to attempt to go through it would be to court certain and swift destruction. There was another door, and it led, as Philip knew, to the large back stairway in that part of the building as yet unattacked by the flames. To open the door and fly down those stairs meant escape from a fiery death; but to go would be to leave his friends to perish miserably in the little room to which he had taken them. He hesitated only long enough to tear off his coat and drench it in a basin of water; then wrapping it over his head, he plunged into the gulf of fire. What the horror and agony of that passage was, no one will ever know; but he reached his cousins, who were already driven, by smoke and approaching flames, into the remotest corner of the little room. He threw them the key as he fell to the floor, unable to take another step.

They opened the door, and between them dragged him into the purer air and supported him down the stairs to the street, where he was at once taken care of by the crowd who were gathered to look on and assist if possible.

The panic in the front of the house soon subsided, for the fire-engines which came from all over London quickly put out the flames, and the greatest damage caused by the fire had been behind the stage. But many had been trampled on and injured in the stampede of the audience for the doors, and the police and ambulance surgeons had all that they could possibly do. Philip was carried immediately into a small shop in the neighborhood, where half a dozen sympathizing strangers promised to care for him and the girls, who were half unconscious from the smoke which they had inhaled, while Miss Acton went to look for the remainder of the party, who she knew would be frantic with anxiety as to the fate of the children.

She did at last succeed in finding Lord Ashden and Dr. Norton, who had sent the ladies home in a cab, while they returned to search for Philip and Miss Acton’s party, whom they had seen clambering over the box, and who they supposed had escaped without difficulty through the back way. When Miss Acton told them as quietly as she could that Philip had been hurt, although she hoped not seriously so, Lord Ashden staggered and would have fallen had not Dr. Norton supported him, and when they entered the dingy back room in the little shop where Philip lay, white and unconscious, on the sofa, his guardian sank upon the floor beside him and covered his face with his hands.