I didn’t have a favorite industrial accident until today. Look, I’m not pro-disaster here, I’m just saying that if you absolutely must have one? It may as well involve hard liquor flowing through the streets of Ireland, as the Lord intended.
Today’s Moment of Science… the Dublin Whiskey Fire.
The TL;DR version of concocting hard liquor goes something like this; some hungry yeast chow down on whatever source of carbs you’ve got kicking around, they’re not picky. The useful little fungi shart out carbon dioxide and nectar of the more mischievous gods, precious ethanol. Then there’s distillation to purify it, aging in the barrel of your choice for flavor, and giving it a final blend for palatability and alcohol content before bottling.
Whiskey typically hovers a bit below the ethanol level needed to be considered a fire hazard. Generally at about 40% alcohol by volume (ABV), there’s enough water to extinguish any flames. Over 50% ABV? That’s where the mayhem begins.
So, Dublin. June 18th, 1875.
In Lawrence Malone’s bonded storehouse sat 5,000 barrels containing 1.2 million liters of high test whiskey and other spirits. At this stage of the process, the liquor hadn’t been blended for bottling yet. Undiluted whiskey ranges from 50-75% ABV.
It’s unknown exactly how– or even where– the fire started. Most reports say Malone’s. Contemporaneous reporting from the Irish Examiner suggests that the fire brigade first received word about the incident at nearby Reid’s malt-house a bit before 9pm.
The fire brigade rushed to the scene, but it was a futile race.
Whenever the flames reached those barrels at Malone’s, they burst and caught fire from the heat. Almost goddamn all of them. Half an Olympic swimming pool worth of flaming Irish regret juice was pouring through the streets of Dublin in a river six inches deep.
Arriving to find a disaster, it’s hard to imagine how utterly helpless and unbelievably fucked the initial fifteen firefighters on the scene felt. Water couldn’t even be used because alcohol would float to the top and keep burning, the water spreading the problem rather than smothering it.
Every house the river touched was damaged. A wake was being held, and the mourners had to rush out of the house, grabbing the corpse and taking only their grief with them as they watched the house burn. People didn’t have time to do anything but run, leaving not only their possessions but their livestock. Because nothing signals ‘everything’s fine’ like panicking goats in the river of fire.
(My band name).
Hundreds of soldiers and officers arrived as back up. At this point, their goal was containment. Led by Captain James Ingram, they attempted a few different methods of stopping the fire. They dug up the street and poured a mixture of sand and gravel in the river’s way, but the whiskey seeped through. Then an idea hit Captain Ingram.
Horseshit. Literal horseshit.
They had tons of the stuff kicking around, and he had a hunch that it could form a slightly more secure barrier than sand and gravel. So, he ordered just astronomical amounts of manure to be brought to the streets, as the horses intended when they pooped there.
They made dams of fucking horseshit.
And it fucking worked.
Sixteen houses were reported to have burned down entirely, along with many others that experienced smoke and flood damage. But nobody died from smoke or fire, in large part due to the heroic work of the fire brigade.
But y’all, this was still Ireland, and you don’t just let a party pass you by. After being hit with flood and fire damage, get yourself a free pint from that flaming river to take the edge off. People were using whatever they grabbed on their way out of the house to scoop whiskey from the filthy streets into their now equally filthy mouths. Cupped hands, jugs, caps, boots, and other far more nonsensical things that could hold fluids were employed.
There were twenty-four hospitalizations and thirteen fatalities due to alcohol poisoning.
This has been your Moment of Science, asking you to please drink flaming rivers responsibly.
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Well, filthy perhaps, but reasonably sterile. If it’s good enough to kill coronavirus in the wild, or at least on your hands…