Its not the 1800s but in a cotton mill I worked in from 1986... This happened around 1991 (im guessing, read the post)
I got chased down 4 flights of concrete stairs by a fireball, someone in work heard My/Our screams of shock, opened a massive firedoor to see what was going on, and I collided into it, grabbed the handle and threw myself into the warehouse it protected.( this happened in my mines eye afterwards, your arse drops out when you see a "Cloud of Flame" go above yer head and instinct kicks in).
Dennis, or "Quaver Ears" as he was called afterwards was a couple of paces behind me, he lost the use of both hands, its thought because the fireball super heated the door handle he had to grab to escape.
I know this incident fucked me up, I was 18 I think (my memory of it is dreamlike but I know i was on Granada reports sporting a Acid House T-shirt ) many names for it, survivors guilt(even though nobody died) ptsd, fuckin soft.
I remember the aftermath and the management said "right, everyone into the Brunswick because we were hampering the firebrigade by standing on the carpark.
Free BAR...I drank 3 pints and sat on a stool watching the blisters appear on my arm, little pinpoint blisters I later found out were red hot plaster dust.
It so happens the fire may have been started by a "tradesman" flicking a fag not knowing that Cotton was highly flammable, it ignited a box of yarn and the dust and because the lift shaft trap door was left open it acted like a fucking chimney and sucked the fire up the stairs...The fire investigator told me, if you had not face planted the door you would have run into the heart of the fire.
Surviving certain death, fucks with yer mind....I'm the chosen one, God's wants me for their own business thoughts are to be expected....Its fucking LUCK