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Fighting the Flames

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<h3>Chapter Eighteen.</h3> <h4>Joe Corney’s Advice.</h4> Wending his way through the crowded streets, Joe soon reached the door of the house in Russell Square which belonged to Mrs Denman. The good lady had made use of a cab after quitting Miss Deemas, so that she was at home and seated in a luxuriously easy chair in her splendidly furnished drawing-room when the fireman applied the knocker. “Does Mrs Denman stop here, my dear?” said Joe to the smart servant-girl who opened the door. “Yes,” replied the girl, “and she told me to show you up to the drawing-room whenever you came. Step this way.” Joe pulled off his cap and followed the maid, who ushered him into the presence of the little old lady. “Pray take a chair,” said Mrs Denman, pointing to one which had evidently been placed close to hers on purpose. “You are a fireman, I understand?” “Yes, ma’am,” replied Joe, “I’ve bin more nor tin years at the business now.” “You must find it a very warm business, I should imagine,” said Mrs Denman, with a smile. “True for ye, ma’am. My body’s bin a’most burnt off my sowl over and over again; but it’s cowld enough, too, sometimes, specially when ye’ve got to watch the premises after the fire’s bin put out of a cowld winter night, as I had to do at your house, ma’am.” Mrs Denman started and turned pale. “What! d’you mean to say that you were at the fire in—in Holborn that night?” “Indeed I do, ma’am. Och! but ye must be ill, ma’am, for yer face is as white as a ghost. Shure but it’s red now. Let me shout for some wather for ye, ma’am.” “No, no, my good man,” said Mrs Denman, recovering herself a little. “I—I—the fact is, it did not occur to me that you had been at that fire, else I would never—but no matter. You didn’t see—see—any one saved, did you?” “See any one saved, is it? Shure, I did, an’ yerself among the lot. Och! but it’s Frank Willders as knows how to do a thing nately. He brought ye out o’ the windy, ma’am, on his showlder as handy as if ye’d bin a carpet-bag, or a porkmanty, ma’am—” “Hush, man!” exclaimed poor Mrs Denman, blushing scarlet, for she was a very sensitive old lady; “I cannot bear to think of it. But how could—you know it was me? It—it—might have been anything—a bundle, you know.” “Not by no manes,” replied the candid Joe. “We seed your shape quite plain, ma’am, for the blankit was tight round ye.” Mrs Denman covered her face with her hand at this point, and resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, reflected that the thing was beyond remedy, and that, as the man had come and was now looking at her, matters could not be worse; so she resolved to carry out her original intention, and question him as to the best course of action in the event of fire. “My good man,” she said, “I have taken the liberty of asking you to come here to tell me what I should do to guard against fire in future.” Joe rubbed his nose and looked at the ground; then he stroked his chin and looked at the old lady; then a look of intelligence lighted up his expressive countenance as he said abruptly— “Is yer house an’ furniture insured, ma’am?” “No, it is not,” replied Mrs Denman. “I have never insured in my life, because although I hear of fires every day in London, it has never occurred to me until lately that there was any probability of my house being burned. I know it was very foolish of me, but I shall see to having it done directly.” “That’s right, ma’am,” said Joe, with an approving nod. “If you seed the heaps an’ heaps o’ splendid furnitur’ an’ goods an’ buildin’s as is burnt every day a’most in London, an’ lost to the owners ’cause they grudged the few shillin’s of insurance, or ’cause they was careless an’ didn’t b’lieve a fire would ever come to them, no matter how many might come to other folk, you’d insure yer house an’ furnitur’ first thing i’ the mornin’, ma’am.” “I have no doubt you say what is quite correct, Mr Corney, and I will certainly attend to this matter in future; but I am more particularly anxious to know how I should act if the house in which I live were to take fire.” “Get out of it as fast as possible,” said Joe promptly, “an’ screech out fire! till yer sides is sore.” “But suppose,” said Mrs Denman, with a faint smile, “that the fire is burning in the stair, and the house full of smoke, what am I to do?” “Och! I see yer drift now, ma’am,” said Joe, with a knowing look. “Av it’s that what ye wants to know, I’ll just, with your lave, ma’am, give ye a small discourse on the subjic’.” Joe cleared his throat, and began with the air of a man who knows what he is talking about. “It’s as well, ma’am, to begin by tryin’ to prevent yer house ketchin’ fire—prevention bein’ better nor cure. If ye’d kape clear o’ that, there’s two or three small matters to remimber. First of all, take oncommon good care o’ your matches, an’ don’t let the childer git at ’em, if you’ve any in the house. Would you believe it, ma’am, there was above fifty fires in London last year that was known to ha’ bin set alight by childers playin’ wid matches, or by careless servants lettin’ ’em drop an’ treadin’ on ’em?” “How many?” asked Mrs Denman in surprise. “Fifty, ma’am.” “Dear me! you amaze me, fireman; I had supposed there were not so many fires in London in a year.” “A year!” exclaimed Joe. “Why, there’s nearly three fires, on the average, every twinty-four hours in London, an’ that’s about a thousand fires in the year, ma’am.” “Are you sure of what you say, fireman?” “Quite sure, ma’am; ye can ax Mr Braidwood if ye don’t b’lieve me.” Mrs Denman, still in a state of blank amazement, said that she did not doubt him, and bade him go on. “Well, then,” resumed Joe, “look well arter yer matches, an’ niver read in bed; that’s the way hundreds o’ houses get a light. When you light a candle with a bit o’ paper, ma’am, don’t throw it on the floor an’ tramp on it an’ think it’s out, for many a time there’s a small spark left, an’ the wind as always blows along the floor sets it up an’ it kitches somethin’, and there you are—blazes an’ hollerin’ an’ ingins goin’ full swing in no time. Then, ma’am, never go for to blow out yer gas, an’ if there’s an escape don’t rest till ye get a gasfitter and find it out. But more particularly don’t try to find it yerself with a candle. Och! if ye’d only seen the blows up as I’ve seen from gas, ye’d look better arter it. Not more nor two weeks gone by, ma’am, we was called to attend a fire which was caused by an escape o’ gas. W’en we got there the fire was out, but sitch a mess you niver did see. It was a house, ma’am, in the West End, with the most illigant painted walls and cornices and gimcracks, idged all with goold. The family had just got into it—noo done up for ’em, only, by good luck, there wasn’t much o’ the furnitur’ in. They had smelled a horrid smell o’ gas for a good while, but couldn’t find it. At last the missis, she goes with a workman an a candle to look for it, an’ sure enough they found it in a bathroom. It had been escapin’ in a small closet at the end o’ the bath, and not bein’ able to git out, for the door was a tight fit, it had gone away an’ filled all the space between the ceilin’s an’ floors, an’ between the lath, and plaster, and the walls. The moment the door in the bath-room was opened all this gas took light an’ blowed up like gunpowder. The whole inner skin o’ the beautiful drawing-room, ma’am, was blowed into the middle of the room. The cook, who was in the drawin’-room passage, she was blow’d down stairs; the workman as opened the little door, he was blow’d flat on his back; an’ the missis, as was standin’ with her back to a door, she was lifted off her legs and blow’d right through the doorway into a bedroom.” “Gracious!” exclaimed the horrified Mrs Denman, “was she killed?” “No, ma’am, she warn’t killed. Be good luck they was only stunned an’ dreadful skeared, but no bones was broken.” Mrs Denman found relief in a sigh. “Well, ma’am,” continued Joe, “let me advise you to sweep yer chimleys once a month. When your chimley gets afire the sparks they get out, and when sparks get out of a windy night there’s no tellin’ what they won’t light up. It’s my opinion, ma’am, that them as makes the laws should more nor double the fines for chimleys goin’ afire. But suppose, ma’am, your house gets alight in spite of you—well then, the question is what’s best to do?” Mrs Denman nodded her old head six or seven times, as though to say, “That is precisely the question.” “I’ll tell you, ma’am,”—here Joe held up the fore-finger of his right hand impressively. “In the first place, every one in a house ought to know all the outs and ins of it, ’cause if you’ve got to look for things for the first time when the cry of ‘Fire’ is raised, it’s not likely that you’ll find ’em. Now, d’ye know, or do the servants know, or does anybody in the house know, where the trap in the roof is?” Mrs Denman appeared to meditate for a minute, and then said that she was not sure. She herself did not know, and she thought the servants might be ignorant on the point, but she rather thought there was an old one in the pantry, but they had long kept a cat, and so didn’t require it. “Och!” exclaimed Joe, with a broad grin, “sure it’s a trap-door I’m spakin’ of.” Mrs Denman professed utter ignorance on this point, and when told that it ought to be known to every one in the house as a mode of escape in the event of fire, she mildly requested to know what she would have to do if there were such a trap. “Why, get out on the roof to be sure,” (Mrs Denman shivered) “and get along the tiles to the next house,” (Mrs Denman shut her eyes and shuddered) “an’ so make yer escape. Then you should have a ladder fixed to this trap-door so as it couldn’t be took away, and ye should have some dozen fathoms o’ half-inch rope always handy, cause if ye was cut off from the staircase by fire an’ from the roof by smoke ye might have to let yourself down from a windy. It’s as well, too, to know how to knot sheets and blankets together, so that the ties won’t slip, for if you have no rope they’d be better than nothin’. You should also have a hand-pump, ma’am, and a bucket of water always handy, ’cause if you take a fire at the beginnin’ it’s easy put out. An’ it’s as well to know that you should go into a room on fire on your hands and knees, with your nose close to the ground—just as a pinter-dog goes—’cause there’s more air there than overhead; an’ it’s better to go in wi’ the hand-pump the first thing. Don’t wait to dress, ma’am.” “Stop, stop, Mr Corney!” cried Mrs Denman, holding up her hand. The little lady was stunned with the rapid utterance of the enthusiastic fireman, and with the dreadful suggestion that she, Mrs Denman, should, in the dead of night, get upon the roof of her dwelling and scramble over the tiles, or let herself down by a rope from a window into the public street, or creep into a burning room on her hands and knees with her nose to the ground like a pointer, and all this, too, in her night-dress, so she begged of him to stop, and said: “But you forget, fireman, it is impossible for me to do any of these dreadful things.” “Well, ma’am,” returned Joe coolly, “it wouldn’t be easy—though, for the matter o’ that, it’s wonderful what people will do for their lives; but I was tellin’ ye, ma’am, what ought to be done, so as somebody else in the house might do it, if you couldn’t. “But suppose, ma’am,” continued Joe, without waiting for a reply; “suppose that the house is alight. Well, the first thing you’ve got to do, is not to get into a fluster. That can’t do no good, you know, and is sure to do mischief. Keep cool. That’s the first thing, ma’am; and be deliberate in all ye do. The second thing is, to wrap a blanket round ye, an’ get out of the house as fast as ye can without stoppin’ to dress. It’s of no use lookin’ put out, ma’am; for it’s better to escape without yer clo’es than to be burnt alive in ’em. Then be careful to shut all doors after ye as ye go. This keeps the air from gittin’ at the fire, and so smothers it down till the ingines come up. Also keep all windows shut. If the smoke is like to choke ye, git yer nose as near the ground as possible, an’ go along on yer hands and knees. A bit o’ flannel or a worsted sock held over yer mouth an’ nose, will help you to bear it better. “If ye can’t escape by the street-door, or the trap in the roof, then get into a front room, where you will be more easy to be got at wid ladders or fire-escapes, an’ see that every mimber o’ the household is there. Many a wan has bin forgotten in the hurry-skurry of a fire, and left asleep in bed, ignorant o’ the danger till too late; when a cool head might have missed ’em, and wakened ’em in time. Whatever ye do, ma’am—keep cool.” The probability of poor Mrs Denman keeping cool in such circumstances was uncommonly small; for she was at that moment hot all over, and her face flushed at the mere recital of such horrors! Joe then went on to state, that the very last thing she should do was to jump from a window (a somewhat unnecessary piece of advice, poor Miss Denman thought), and that, when she was compelled to take such a step, she should first of all pitch over all the blankets and bedding she could lay hold of to make her fall easy. He wound up with an emphatic reiteration of the assurance that her only chance lay in “keeping cool.” That night, poor Mrs Denman, in a condition of mind that is utterly indescribable, because inconceivable, went through the whole of the dreadful processes which Joe had described; and did it, too, with miraculous presence of mind and energy—in her dreams. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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