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Fighting the Flames

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Two.</h3> <h4>A Fireman’s Life.</h4> The clocks were striking nine when Frank issued from Miss Tippet’s dwelling and walked briskly away. On turning a corner he came upon one of the numerous fire-escapes that nightly rear their tall heads against the houses all over London, in a somewhat rampant way, as though they knew of the fires that were about to take place, and, like mettlesome war-horses, were anxious to rush into action without delay. On the pavement, close by the escape, stood a small sentry-box, and the moment Frank came in sight of it he remembered that it was the nocturnal habitation of his friend Conductor Samuel Forest. Sam himself was leaning his arms on the lower half of his divided door, and gazing contemplatively along the street. “Well, Sam, what news?” inquired Frank as he came up. “That you, Willders?” said Sam, a quiet smile of recognition playing on his good-humoured features. “I thought it must be the giant they’re exhibitin’ in Saint James’s Hall just now, takin’ a stroll at night to escape the boys. Why, when do you mean to stop growing?” “I don’t mean to interfere with Nature at all,” replied Frank; “and I believe the world will be big enough to hold me, whatever size I grow to.” “Well, what’s the news?” inquired Sam, emerging from his narrow residence, and proving in the act, that, though not quite so tall as his friend, he was one who required a pretty fair share of room in the world for himself. “Nothing particular,” said Frank, leaning against the escape; “only a chimney and a cut-away affair last night, and a false alarm and a first-floor burnt out the day before.” “How’s Thompson?” asked Forest. “Poorly, I fear,” said Frank, with a shake of his head. “The sprained ankle he got when he fell off the folding-board is getting well, but the injury to his spine from the engine is more serious.” “Ah! poor fellow!” said Forest, “he’s just a little too reckless. How came he by the sprain?” “It was in the basement of a bookbinder’s in Littleton Street,” said Frank, lighting a cigar. “We got the call about 11 p.m., and on getting there found three engines at work. Mr Braidwood ordered our fellows to go down into the basement. It was very dark, and so thick of smoke that I couldn’t see half-an-inch before my nose. We broke through the windows, and found ourselves ankle-deep in water. The engines had been at work flooding the place for some time, and there was more water than we expected; but we had got on the folding-boards without knowing it, an’ before we knew where we were, down went Thompson into water four feet deep. I think myself some of the water-pipes had burst. He rose gasping, and I caught him by the collar and hauled him out. It was in trying to recover himself when he fell that he got the sprain. You’ve heard how he came by the other mishap?” “Yes, it was gallopin’ down Ludgate Hill, wasn’t it?” “Ay; the engine went over a barrow, and the jolt threw him off, and before he got up it was on him. By good fortune it did not go over him; it only bruised his back; but it’s worse than we thought it would be, I fear.” “Ah! one never knows,” said Forest gravely. “There’s one man Jackson, now, only two weeks ago he was up in a third floor in Lambeth, and had brought down two women and a child, and was in the back-rooms groping for more, when the floor above gave way and came down on him. We all thought he was done for, but some of the beams had got jammed, and not five minutes after he steps out of a window all right—only a scratch or two, not worth mentioning; yet that same man fell down a flight of stairs at the same fire, with a boy on his shoulder, and sprained his ankle so bad that he’s bin laid up for three weeks; but he saved the boy.” “Ah! it was worth the sprain,” said Frank. “It was,” responded Forest. “Well, good-night,” said Frank, resuming his walk. Samuel Forest responded “good-night,” and then, getting into his box, sat down on its little seat, which was warranted not to hold two, trimmed the lamp that hung at his side, and, pulling out a book from a corner, began to peruse it. Sam was of a literary turn of mind. He read a great deal during his lonely watches, and used often to say that some of his happiest hours were those spent in the dead of night in his sentry-box. His helmet hung on a peg beside him. His hatchet was in his girdle, and a small cap covered his head. Looking at him in his snug and brightly illuminated little apartment, he appeared—by contrast with the surrounding darkness—inexpressibly comfortable. Nevertheless, Sam Forest could have told you that appearances are often deceptive, and that no matter how it looked, his box was but a cold habitation on a biting December night. While deeply immersed in his book, Sam heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and pricked up his ears. He was a good judge of such sounds. As they drew near, he quietly took off his cap, put on his helmet, and stepped from his box. The street was very silent; and, perhaps, not one of the hundreds of sleepers there thought of the solitary man who held vigil, and was so alert to do them service, if the hour of their extremity should come. But a cry arose that startled them— “Fire! fire!!” Another moment, and two men dashed round the corner, yelling at the top of their voices. Gasping for breath, they named the locality. Almost before they had done so, two policemen were on the spot, and in another moment the fire-escape was in motion. Instructed by the conductor, the two strangers and the policemen lent their willing aid. Before ten minutes had passed, the tall machine was run up to a burning house, the lower part of which was blazing; while, from the upper windows, frantic cries were heard for help, and sundry figures in dishabille were seen waving their arms. The escape was run up, and one after another the inmates were rescued from their perilous position. While this scene was enacting Frank was pursuing his way to the Regent Street Fire Station; but news of the fire got there before him. He arrived just in time to don his helmet and take his place on the engine. Away they went, and in ten minutes after the arrival of the fire-escape, they dashed up, almost running into an engine which appeared from an opposite direction. The fire was blazing brightly by this time, and the whole neighbourhood was in a state of commotion and excitement. The two engines were got to work with as little delay as possible. A body of police kept the gathering crowd back, and soon volumes of steam began to mingle with the black smoke of the burning building. The superintendent was early on the scene, and he directed Frank and another fireman to try to persuade the people in the adjoining houses to remain quiet, and not throw their furniture over the window; but this, some of them would not consent to do. It was plain that one or two were mad with fear and excitement; and as the ruling passion is strong in death, so it would seem to be by no means weak in the midst of danger from fire; for many of them bent their whole energies to the saving of their goods and chattels—regardless of their lives. One stout old gentleman, in particular, was seen at a third-floor window, heaving out chairs and stools and books, and small tables, and clocks, and even quantities of crockery, with desperate energy, to the great danger of the onlookers, at whose feet the various articles fell, and were dashed to atoms! Frank darted up the stairs that led to this man’s apartments, and burst in upon him. “Oh! come along, fireman; help me to save my things,” he exclaimed, as he struggled with superhuman efforts to thrust a table through the window, which was too small to permit its passage. “Stop, sir, are you mad?” cried Frank sternly. “Help me! help me! Oh! fireman, it will be all burned. Fire! fire! fire!!!” His voice rose into a fierce yell, as he strove in vain with the table. “You’re quite safe,” cried Frank, holding him; “your house ain’t alight, and the engines have got it almost under.” But Frank spoke to deaf ears; so he coolly lifted the man in his arms, carried him kicking downstairs, and placed him in charge of a policeman. Just then, a cry was raised that there were two kegs of gunpowder in one of the shops on the ground floor. The owner of the shop came up in a frantic state, and corroborated this statement. “It’ll blow the house to bits, sir,” he said to Mr Braidwood. “Of course it will,” remarked the latter in a quiet voice. “Come here, my man,” he added, taking the shopkeeper apart from the crowd, and questioning him closely. Immediately after, he ordered the engines to play on a particular part of the building. Just then, Frank came up to the superintendent. “There’s gunpowder in the back-shop somewhere, I’m told, sir; shall I go in for it?” “No, Willders; you couldn’t find it in the smoke. Take the branch, lad, and get up into that window above the door.” Frank sprang to obey. At the same time, Mr Braidwood suddenly seized a horse-cloth, and dashed in through the smoke. In a few seconds, he returned with one of the kegs of powder in his arms. Giving it to one of his men, he darted in again, and speedily re-issued with the second keg of powder, amid the frantic cheering of the crowd. Having done this, he continued to superintend the men until the fire was got under, which was soon accomplished, having been attacked promptly and with great vigour soon after it broke out. “You needn’t wait, Mr Dale,” said Braidwood, going up to his foreman. “It’s all safe now. I’ll keep one engine; but you and your lads get off to your beds as fast as ye can.” Dale obeyed, and a few minutes after, the engine was galloping homewards. Willie Willders was in the station when it arrived, and so was Fred Auberly, who, having accompanied Willie, had got into such an interesting talk with the sub-engineer in charge, that he forgot time, and was still in animated conversation when the wheels were heard in the distance. The three were out at the door in an instant. On came the engine, the horses’ feet and the wheels crashing harshly in the silent night. They came round the corner with a sharp swing. Either the driver had become careless, or he was very sleepy that night, for he dashed against an iron post that stood at the corner, and carried off two wheels. The engine went full thirty yards on the two off-wheels, before it came to the ground, which it did at last with a terrific crash, throwing the firemen violently to the ground. The sub-engineer and Fred and Willie sprang forward in great alarm; but the most of the men leaped up at once, and one or two of them laughed, as if to show that they had got no damage. But one of them lay extended on the pavement. It needed not a second glance to tell that it was Frank Willders. “Lift him gently, lads,” said Dale, who was himself severely bruised. “Stop,” exclaimed Frank in a low voice; “I’ve got no harm except to my left leg. It’s broken, I think. There’s no use of lifting me till you get a cab. I’ll go straight home, if—” He fainted as he spoke. “Run for a cab, Willie,” said Fred Auberly. Willie was off in a moment. At the same instant, a messenger was despatched for Dr Offley, and in a short time after that, Frank Willders was lying on his mother’s sofa, with his left leg broken below the knee. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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