Howard College, then at Marion, was burned on the night of October 15, 1854.

Dr. Henry Talbird was at the time the president of the institution, and his nightly habit was to make a thorough inspection of the grounds and buildings, in order to see that all was well. After making his usual and uniform round on the night just named, he went to bed somewhat after ten o’clock. He had fallen into deep sleep, when he was aroused by the ringing of bells and the loud cry of “Fire! Fire! Fire!” On rushing out, he found the lower floor of the dormitory all ablaze, the fire already having begun its ascent up the stairway.

To this day the origin of the fire is a mystery. It was in the fall of the year, the weather was still warm, and there was no occasion for fire about the building. The basement was one mass of rolling flames when first the building was reached. In a house near by, the janitor, a negro boy of twenty-three, was sleeping, and when he reached the scene, the flames were moving steadily up the stairway. He made a movement as if to plunge into the flames, when he was warned to keep clear. He replied that he must save the boys who were sleeping on the two upper floors, and did plunge through fire and smoke, and disappeared beyond.

Within a short time many of the people of the town had gathered, and the boys began to leap, one after another, to the ground. Ladders were brought into requisition to aid those on the highest floor to escape. Every student was aroused by the heroic colored janitor, and all but one had descended safely to the ground.

The young man who was still missing soon appeared at a window and was saved through the exertions of the late Dr. Noah K. Davis, late professor of philosophy in the University of Virginia, and several others.

About this time the negro boy, burnt almost bare, and raw from his burns, his hair burnt from his head, and his eyebrows and lashes gone, appeared at one of the highest windows and flung himself to the ground, about sixty feet below.

He rolled over on the grass a dead man.

His body was drawn from under the influence of the intense heat, and every effort was made to restore life, but he had been burned to death, and evidently had thrown himself from the window to prevent his body from being consumed in the burning building.

The terrible fire was now lost sight of in the attention which was bestowed on the faithful negro janitor. He had given his life for others.

The following morning, elaborate preparations were made for the becoming burial of the heroic Harry. Negro slave, as he was, he was honored with a burial from the leading white church of the town.

The building was packed with wealthy planters, merchants, lawyers, and their families to do honor to the hero of the fire.

In the funeral services leading citizens arose, one by one, to pronounce eulogies on the dead slave.Flowers were in profusion, and the procession to the cemetery was composed of the carriages of the wealthy. Greater distinction could not have been shown the most eminent citizen of the town.

At the grave, every possible consideration was shown, and mournfully the vast crowd turned from the grave of an humble slave. A sum of money was at once raised for the purpose of placing a high marble shaft at his grave, and in the cemetery at Marion it still stands conspicuously, with the inscriptions undimmed by the storms of more than half a century. On the front of the shaft is the inscription: “Harry, servant of H. H. Talbird, D.D., president of Howard College, who lost his life from injuries received while rousing the students at the burning of the college building, on the night of October 15, 1854, aged 23 years.” On another side appears the inscription: “A consistent member of the Baptist church, he illustrated the character of a Christian servant, ‘faithful unto death.’” On still another side appears the language: “As a grateful tribute to his fidelity, and to commemorate a noble act, this monument has been erected by the students of Howard College and the Alabama Baptist Convention.” The fourth side of the monument bears this inscription: “He was employed as a waiter in the college, and when alarmed by the flames at midnight, and warned to escape for his life, he replied, ‘I must wake the boys first,’ and thus saved their lives at the cost of his own.”

Here humanity asserted itself to the full. Uninfluenced by any other consideration than that a young man had proved himself a hero in a dire crisis, every worthy man and woman was ready to accord to a dead but heroic slave, the merits of his just deserts.

At this time the country was shaken by the acrimonious discussion of domestic slavery, in which the negro was as extravagantly exploited in the North as he was depreciated in the South; so much so, indeed, that it was deemed unwise in the South to accord him other than ordinary consideration. But in a juncture like this, humanity asserted itself, and to the faithful negro janitor every possible honor was shown. For when an ignorant slave boy became a rare hero, and voluntarily gave his life for others, all else, for the time, was forgotten at the bar of tested humanity.

The name of Harry was heralded through the press of the country, and on the floor of the Baptist State Convention of Alabama wealthy slave owners eulogized him a hero, and freely opened their purses to give expression to their appreciation of his chivalrous conduct in saving the lives of so many.

“World-wide apart, and yet akin,
As shown that the human heart
Beats on forever as of old.”