An Expose from a Brooklyn Fire

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AN EXPOSE FROM A BROOKLYN FIRE.

It is said that the fire which destroyed the vast pile of stables, in Flushing avenue, corner of Franklin avenue, on Tuesday morning last, was caused by one of the "milkers," who arose an hour or so before daylight, and proceeding to his work overturned his lantern in the midst of some hay. The fire spread rapidly and destroyed the whole range of stables—slight shanty built structures, in which must have been towards a thousand cows.

After once entering these stables, the cows under usual circumstances remained there for life, confined in their dark and damp apartments, never knowing the green pasture or the open air, and fed on perpetual ripples of distillery-swill, which flowed, night and day, in a raised trough, at the head-end of each stall. Although the stalls were partially cleaned, they were filthy enough; and the cows were also. As you caught a glimpse of them in passing, you saw no fat, sleek "milky mothers of the herd," with large eyes and contented look, but blotched, gaunt, blear-eyed "rummies," real cow-bummers, with bad breath, bad teeth, and all the seedy appearance of cows after long sprees—truly intemperate and unhappy cows! And what wonder? There they were, slaves for life—worse than that, prisoners for life. The adjoining distillery supplied them with food—and at the end, their destiny was either to be cut up by some vender of diseased meat, or carted off on a cart with a filthy old piece of canvass​ for a shroud, and boiled up in a bone-boiling place.

Where did all the milk from these thousand cow-rummies go to? To scores of groceries, in every direction, and into hundreds of poor families; into the tea of grown persons, and the bowls and cups of children's meals.—Of course such milk stands high on the list of the aggravations, perhaps causes, of sickness in summer. All the cows kept month after month in such stables, and fed on hot swill, are more or less diseased—generally more. What must the milk be?

Good milk is a delicious article, in summer. It might with advantage enter far more largely into the composition of cooked dishes. One's mouth ought to detect diseased milk from healthy milk, as readily as good water from bad. Or it may be we eat unnatural food to so great a degree that people suppose a little nasty milk won't make much difference, for better or worse. Well, perhaps it won't, in many cases.

We know a very careful gentleman who thinks the world of his health. He abstains on that account from coffee, buckwheat cakes, and the like—and then, at dinner, prepares and eats enormous quantities of lobster-salad, with oil, spices, and French mustard, not forgetting a little brandy to give it a flavor! We believe he too agrees with us, and is eloquent on the subject of bad milk.

At the fire last Tuesday morning, when the cows were hurried out, before daylight, they filled the whole neighborhood, along Skillman street, and Flushing, Franklin, and Bedford avenues. It was a singular scene—the glare of the fire, the noise of the engines, and the crowd. The animals were frightened—they ran to and fro, jumped over people's fences, &c.

We understand that, under the existing ordinances of Brooklyn, no new cow-stables can be built—although it seems very difficult to have the old ones removed.