CHAPTER THREE.
FIRE!!!
"Hallo, that'll do, man!" cried the same stalwart fireman who had seizedthe small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on Hopkins's shoulder,whereabouts is it?
Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt itself into the poor man'sbrain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell!Seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly--almostlifted him--into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd hadalready begun to collect.
"Calm yourself," said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust Hopkinsdown into a chair. "Consider now. You'll make us too late if you don'tspeak. Where is it?"
"B-B-Fire!" yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men,who were quietly putting on their helmets.
Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out,seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever.
"Get her out, Jim," said the fireman in a low tone to one of hiscomrades ("her" being the engine); at the same time he went to the door,and again seizing Hopkins, brought him back and forced him into a chair,while he said firmly:
"Now, then, out with it, man; where's the fire?"
"Yes, yes," screamed Hopkins, "fire! fire that's it! B-! B-Beverly!--blazes!--square!--number--Fire!"
"That'll do," said the fireman, at once releasing the temporary maniac,and going to a book where he calmly made an entry of the name of thesquare, the hour of the night, and the nature of the call. Two linessufficed. Then he rose, put on his helmet, and thrust a small hatchetinto his belt, just as the engine was dragged to the door of thestation.
There was something absolutely magnificent in this scene which no pencan describe, because more than half its force was conveyed only by theeye and the ear. The strong contrast between human excitement andmadness coupled with imbecility, and human calmness and self-possessioncoupled with vigorous promptitude, was perfect.
Just before poor Hopkins rang his first note of alarm the station hadbeen wrapt in profound silence--the small boy's interruption having beenbut a momentary affair. George Dale, the fireman in charge, was seatedat a desk in the watch-room (known among firemen as the "lobby"), makingan entry in a diary. All the other men--about thirteen in number--hadgone to their respective homes and beds in the immediate neighbourhood,with the exception of the two whose turn it was to remain on duty allnight. These two (named Baxmore and Corney), with their coats, belts,boots, and caps on, had just lain down on two low tressel couches, andwere courting sleep. The helmets of their comrades hung on the wallsround the room, with belts and hatchets underneath them. Several pairsof boots also graced the walls, and a small clock, whose gentle tick wasthe only sound that broke the silence of the night. In an outer roomthe dim form of a spare engine could be seen through the doorway.
The instant that the bell rang, however, this state of quietude was putto flight. The two men rose from their couches, and Dale stepped to thedoor. There was no starting up, no haste in their movements, yet therewas prompt rapidity. The men, having been sailors, had been trained inthe midst of alarms. The questions which were put to Hopkins, as abovedescribed, were rapidly uttered. Before they were answered the two menwere ready, and at Dale's order, "Get her out!" they both vanished.
One ran round the corner to the engine-house and "knocked up" the driverin passing. The other ran from door to door of the firemen's abodes,which were close at hand, and with a loud double-ring summoned thesleepers. Before he got back to help the first with the engine, one andanother and another door opened, and a man darted out, buttoning bracesor coat as he ran. Each went into the station, seized his helmet, belt,and axe, from his own peg, and in another moment all were armed_cap-a-pie_. At the same instant that the engine appeared at the door apair of horses were trotted up. Two men held them; two others fastenedthe traces; the driver sprang to his seat; the others leaped to theirrespective places. Each knew what to do, and did it at once. There wasno hurry, no loss of time, no excitement; some of the men, even whileacting with the utmost vigour and promptitude, were yawning away theirdrowsiness; and in less than ten minutes from the moment the bell firstrang the whip cracked and the fire-engine dashed away from the stationamid the cheers of the crowd.
It may be as well to remark here in passing, that the London FireBrigade had, at the time of which we write, reached a high state ofefficiency, although it could not stand comparison with the perfectionof system and unity of plan which mark the organisation and conduct ofthe Brigade of the present day.
Mr Braidwood, the able Superintendent, had for many years been traininghis men on a system, the original of which he had begun and proved inEdinburgh. Modifying his system to suit the peculiarities of the largerfield to which he had been translated, he had brought the "Fire EngineEstablishment," (which belonged at that time to several insurancecompanies) to a state of efficiency which rendered it a model and atraining-school for the rest of the world; and although he had not theadvantage of the telegraph or the powerful aid of the land steamfire-engine of the present day, he had men of the same metal as thosewhich compose the force now.
The "Metropolitan Fire Brigade," as it then existed under the control ofthe Metropolitan Board of Works, had been carried by its chief, CaptainEyre Massey Shaw, to a condition of efficiency little if at all short ofperfection, its only fault being (if we may humbly venture a remark)that it was too small both in numbers of engines and men.
Now, good reader, if you have never seen a London fire-engine go to afire, you have no conception of what it is; and even if you have seenit, but have not gone with it, still you have no idea of what it is.
To those accustomed to it, no doubt, it may be tame enough--we cannottell; but to those who mount an engine for the first time and drivethrough the crowded thoroughfares of London at a wild tearing gallop, itis probably the most exciting drive conceivable. It beatssteeple-chasing. It feels like driving to destruction--so wild and soreckless is it. And yet it is not reckless in the strict sense of thatword; for there is a stern _need-be_ in the case. Every _moment_ (notto mention minutes or hours) is of the utmost importance in the progressof a fire. Fire smoulders and creeps at first, it may be, but when ithas got the mastery, and bursts into flames, it flashes to its work andcompletes it quickly. At such times, one moment of time lost mayinvolve thousands of pounds--ay, and many human lives! This is wellknown to those whose profession it is to fight the flames. Hence theunion of apparent mad desperation, with cool, quiet self-possession intheir proceedings. When firemen can work in silence they do so. Nounnecessary word is uttered, no voice is needlessly raised. Like themovements of some beautiful steam-engine, which, with oiled pistons,cranks, and levers, does its unobtrusive work in its own little chamberin comparative stillness, yet with a power that would tear and rend topieces buildings and machinery, so the firemen sometimes bend to theirwork quietly, though with mind and muscles strung to the utmost point oftension. At other times, like the roaring locomotive crashing through atunnel or past a station, their course is a tumultuous rush, amid astorm of shouting and gesticulation.
So was it on the present occasion. Had the fire been distant, theywould have had to commence their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear ofbreaking down the horses; but it was not far off--not much more than acouple of miles--so they dashed round the corner of their own street ata brisk trot, and swept into Oxford Street. Here they broke into agallop, and here the noise of their progress began, for the greatthoroughfare was crowded with vehicles and pedestrians, many of whomwere retiring from the theatres and music-halls, and other places ofentertainment.
To pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with anythingrequired not only the most dexterous driving, but rendered it necessarythat some of the men on the engine should stand up and shout, or ratherroar incessantly, as they whirled along, clearing everything out oftheir way, and narrowly escaping innumerable crashes by a merehairbreadth.
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sp; The men, as we said before, having been sailors, seemed to shout withthe memory of the boatswain strong upon them, for their tones werepitched in the deepest and gruffest bass-key. Sometimes there was alull for a moment, as a comparatively clear space of a hundred yards orso lay before them; then their voices rose like the roaring of the galeas a stupid or deaf cabman got in their way, or a plethoric 'busthreatened to interrupt their furious passage.
The cross streets were the points where the chief difficulties met them.There the cab and van drivers turned into or crossed the greatthoroughfare, all ignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on like afiery meteor, with its lamps casting a glare of light before, and thehelmets of its stern charioteers flashing back the rays of street-lampsand windows; for, late though the hour was, all the gin-palaces, andtobacconists' shops, and many of the restaurants were still open andbrightly illuminated.
At the corner of Wells Street, the crowd of cabs and other vehicles wasso great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, andJim Baxmore and Joe Corney raised their voices to a fierce shout. Cabs,'busses, and pedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellousmanner; the driver slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horsesstretched out again.
In passing Berners Street, a hansom cab swept round the corner, itsdashing driver smoking a cigar in sublime self-satisfaction, and lookingcarelessly right and left for a "fare." This exquisite almost ran intothe engine! There was a terrific howl from all the firemen; the cabbyturned his smart horse with a bound to one side, and lost his cigar inthe act--in reference to which misfortune he was heartily congratulatedby a small member of the Shoe-black Brigade,--while the engine wentsteadily and sternly on its way.
"There, it shows a light," observed one of the firemen to Dale, as hepointed to a luminous appearance in the sky away to the north-east.
Dale was already looking in that direction, and made no reply.
As they reached Tottenham Court Road the driver again checked the pace alittle; yet even at the reduced speed they passed everything like awhirlwind. The traffic here was so great that it behoved them to bemore cautious. Of course, the more need that there was for caution, themore necessity was there for shouting; and the duty of Baxmore andCorney--standing as they did in front of their comrades beside thedriver--became severe, but they had good lungs both of them!
At the point where Tottenham Court Road cuts Oxford Street, theaccumulation of vehicles of all sorts, from a hand-barrow to afurniture-van, is usually very great. To one unaccustomed to the powersof London drivers, it would have seemed nothing short of madness todrive full tilt into the mass that blocked the streets at this point.But the firemen did it. They reined up a little, it is true, just as ahunter does in gathering his horse together for a rush at a stone wall,but there was nothing like an approach to stopping.
"Hi! Hi!! Hi!!!" roared the firemen, Baxmore and Corney high above therest. A 'bus lumbered to the left just in time; a hansom sprang to theright, not a moment too soon; a luggage-van bolted into Crown Street;the pedestrians scattered right and left, and the way was clear--no, notquite clear! The engine had to turn at a right angle here intoTottenham Court Road. Round it went on the two off-wheels, and camefull swing on a market-gardener and a hot-coffee woman, who werewheeling their respective barrows leisurely side by side, and chattingas they went.
The roar that burst from the firemen was terrific. The driver attemptedboth to pull up and to turn aside. The market-gardener dropt his barrowand fled. The hot-coffee woman, being of a resolute nature, thrust herbarrow by main force on the footpath, and so saved her goods and herselfby a hairbreadth, while the barrow of her friend was knocked in pieces.But the effort of the engine-driver to avoid this had well-nigh resultedin serious consequences. In endeavouring to clear the market-gardenerhe drew so near to the footpath that in another moment a lamp-post wouldhave been carried away, and the wheels of the engine, in allprobability, knocked off, had not Joe Corney observed the danger.
With a truly Irish yell Joe seized the rein next him, and pulled thehorses round almost at a right angle. The nave of the hind-wheel justshaved the post as it flew by. The whole thing passed so swiftly thatbefore the market-gardener recovered from his consternation the enginewas only discernible in the distance by the sparks that flew from itswheels as it held on in its furious way.
All along its course a momentary disturbance of London equanimity wascreated. Families not yet abed rushed to their front windows, and,looking out, exclaimed, "Ha! the firemen." Tipplers in gin-palaces ranto the doors and said, "There they go", "That's your sort", "Hurrah, myhearties!" or, "Go it, ye cripples!" according to the different stagesof inebriation at which they had arrived; and belated men of businessstopped to gaze, and then resumed their way with thoughts andspeculations on fire and fire insurance, more or less deep and seriousaccording to temperament. But the disturbance was only temporary. Thefamilies retired to their suppers or beds, the tipplers returned totheir tipple, the belated speculators to their dreams, and in a fewminutes (no doubt) forgot what they had seen, and forgot; perchance,that they had any personal interest in fire raising, or fire extinction,or fire prevention, or fire in any dangerous shape or form whatever, orindulged in the comforting belief, mayhap, that whatever disasters mightattend the rest of the London community, they and their houses beingendued with the properties of the salamander, nothing in the shape offire might, could, would, or should kindle upon them. So true is itthat, "all men think all men mortal but themselves!"
Do you doubt this, reader? If so, go poll your acquaintance, and tellus how many of them have got rope-ladders, or even ropes, to escape fromtheir houses should they take fire; how many of them have gothand-pumps, or even buckets, placed so as to be handy in case of fire;and how many of them have got their houses and furniture insured againstfire.
Meanwhile, the fire-engine held on its way, until it turned into BeverlySquare, and pulled short up in front of the blazing mansion of JamesAuberly, Esquire.
Another engine was already at work there. It had come from a nearerstation, of the existence of which Hopkins had been ignorant when he setout on his wild race for help. The men of this engine were alreadydoing their work quietly, but with perceptible effect, pouring incessantstreams of water in at the blazing windows, and watching for theslightest lull in the ferocity of the smoke and flame to attack theenemy at closer quarters.
Fighting the Flames Page 3
