The great city was sound asleep. It was the deadest hour of the night,
if we may apply that term to three o'clock in the morning, the hour at
which most people have sought and found their pillows. Late revellers
had ceased to shout and sing, early risers had yet a good hour of rest
before them, if not more. Of course there were many wakeful sick folk--
ah! how many in that mighty hive called London! But these did not
disturb the profound quiet that had descended on the city: only a few
weak but steady lights in windows here and there told of their
existence.
Among the sleepless, on that calm dark night, there was one man to whom
we draw attention. His bronzed cheeks and tall muscular frame told that
he was not one of the wakeful sick, neither was he a sick-nurse, to
judge from things around him. He sat with his elbows on his knees and
his hands clasped, gazing into the fire and meditating--perhaps building
castles in the flames. His eyebrows were very bushy and his looks
stern, but there was a play of gentle, kindly feeling round his mouth.
He was one of a gallant band of picked men whose duty it is to do battle
with the flames, a member of the London Fire-brigade. Two other men
like himself lay on two little iron beds sound asleep with their clothes
on. There was this difference between them, however, that the wakeful
man wore brass epaulettes on his shoulders. Brass helmets and axes hung
round the room. A row of boots hung in a rack, a little telegraph
instrument stood on a table near a map of London, and a small but
sociable clock ticked on the wall.
That clock had quite a lively, cheerful tick. It seemed to talk to the
fireman with the bushy brows until he smiled and looked at it.
"Tic--tic--tic!" said the man, "how low and gentle your voice seems
to-night. Everything is so still and quiet, that you appear to be only
whispering the flight of time."
"Tic--tic--tic," replied the clock.
But the fireman heard no more, for just then a faint, far-distant sound
broke upon his ear. It drew near, like a rushing wind. Then like the
noise of hurrying feet. The man rose and nudged one of the sleepers,
who sat up and listened, after which he got up quickly, reached down his
helmet, and awoke his companion, while the first fireman went to the
station door. Some one ran against it with fearful violence as he laid
his hand on the lock, and the alarm-bell rang a tremendous peal as he
threw it open.
"Fire!" yelled a man who seemed all eyes and hair.
"Just so; where is it?" replied the fireman, calmly glancing at the
clock.
"Fire!" again yelled the man of eyes and hair, who was for the moment
mad with excitement.
"You've said that twice; where _is_ it?" said the fireman, seizing the
man by his arm, while the two men, who had been asleep, slipped out like
fleet but quiet ghosts. One called up the sleeping firemen, the other
got out two horses which stood ready harnessed in their stalls.
The fireman's grasp sobered the madman. A street was named. The
outbreak of the fire was instantly telegraphed to head-quarters, and
thence to other stations concerned. Round came the horses; in flowed
the roused firemen, buttoning their garments as they ran each to his own
peg for helmet and axe. At the same time two or three hauled out the
steam fire-engine and yoked the horses. Three minutes from the first
shout of fire had barely elapsed when the whip cracked, eight or ten
helmeted men sprang to their seats, the steeds bounded away and tore
along the no longer quiet streets, leaving a trail of sparks behind
them.
Haste! haste! was the one idea. One minute saved may be a matter of
life or death in cases of fire.
Constant training, stern drill, made every man act like a calm, cool,
collected thunderbolt. No fuss, but tremendous energy. No noise, but
now and then a deep bass roar when any vehicle chanced to get in the
way, and a quiet smile when the danger was passed.
Thus they rushed along, like a fierce fiery monster, until they reached
a square in the great city which was bright as with the sun at noon-day.
A mansion was blazing from cellars to attics!
Our engine was soon at work. Other engines, whose stations lay nearer
to the scene of action, were already pumping volumes of water into the
flames. A strong force of police kept back the vast crowd, so as to let
the firemen do their work undisturbed. It was deadly work they had to
do! Not only were flames spouting from every window, but masses of
brickwork and blazing beams were falling in various places, rendering
the service full of danger. A London crowd is usually well-behaved, but
there are sometimes a few forward geese in it who think they can do
things better than other people. One such, a huge man with a foreign
accent, became excited, shouted, "Oh! vy don't you put 'im hout?" broke
through the crowd, and rushed among the firemen.
Our friend with the brass epaulettes and bushy eyebrows chanced to pass
at the moment.
"Vy you not put more vatter on 'im?" shouted the foreigner.
The stern countenance of the fireman relaxed, and a humorous smile lit
up his countenance for one instant; but he took no other notice of the
foreigner, who was quickly collared by two policemen as strong as
himself, and thrust back into the crowd, where he was received with
laughter, and presented with much good advice. One little boy in
particular recommended him seriously to go home and ask his mamma to put
him to bed--a remark which was received with great delight by the
bystanders.
But there was not much laughter; for the fire was very terrible, and
there was a report that some of the inmates had not been rescued by the
fire-escape men.
Meanwhile, our fireman with the epaulettes, who was foreman of that
district, went about like a general in action, watching the flames
sternly,--giving a quiet order to one, indicating a point of vantage to
another, giving a helping hand here and there with the hose, answering a
quick question promptly, and doing his utmost to dispose his force in
such a way as to quell the raging fire. All this time he moved about
among smoke and flames and falling materials as if he bore a charmed
life--which, indeed, he did: for, as he afterwards said himself, the
hand of God shielded him, and nothing on earth could kill him till his
work on earth was done; and nothing on earth could save him when his
time to die should come. This sentiment was, partly at least, the
secret of the fireman's cool courage in the midst of danger.
But the enemy was very strong that night, and the brigade could make no
impression whatever on the burning house, the inside of which glowed
like a smelting furnace.
"Try the drawing-room window, Jim, wi' the fire-escape," said our
foreman to one of his men.
He helped Jim to push the huge ladder on wheels to the window mentioned,
and placed it in position. While Jim ran for a nozzle and hose, there
was a great cry from the crowd. A woman had got out on the ledge of an
attic window, and knelt there shrieking and waving her arms, while the
smoke curled round her, and the flames leapt up at her. She was high
above the head of the escape; but there were fly-ladders which could be
raised above that. These were instantly hoisted, and our foreman sprang
up to the rescue.
The danger of the attempt lay in this--that, though the lower and upper
parts of the escape were comparatively free from smoke, the middle was
shrouded with a dense mass, through which now and then a lurid red flame
burst. But our hero thought only of the woman. In a second or two he
had disappeared in the smoke.
Two of the firemen stood below holding a nozzle of the hose and
directing it on a particular spot. They did not dare to move from their
post, but they could see by a glance upwards what was going on.
"Fred," said one to the other in a low voice, "_He'll_ save her, or
there'll be a man less in the brigade to-night. He never does anything
by halves. Whatever he undertakes he does _well_. Depend on't, that
Harry Thorogood will save that woman if she can be saved at all."
As he spoke Harry was seen emerging above the smoke, but when he reached
the top of the highest ladder he was fully six feet below the spot where
the woman knelt.
"Come! girl, come!" he shouted, and held out his arms.
The terrified creature hesitated. She was afraid. She doubted the
strength of the escape--the power of the man.
"Come! come!" again he shouted.
She obeyed, but came against the fireman with such force that the round
of the ladder on which he stood gave way, and both were seen to go
crashing downwards, while something like a mighty groan or cry rose from
the multitude below. It was changed, however, into a wild cheer when
Harry was seen to have caught the head of the escape, and arrested his
fall, with one powerful hand, while, with the other, he still grasped
the woman.
"God favours them," said a voice in the crowd, as a gust of wind for a
few seconds drove smoke and flames aside.
Our bold fireman seized the opportunity, got the woman into the shoot,
or canvas bag under the lowest ladder, and slid with her in safety to
the ground.
The pen may describe, but it cannot convey a just idea of the thrilling
cheers that greeted the rescued woman as she was received at the bottom
of the escape, or the shouts of applause and congratulation that greeted
Harry Thorogood as he emerged from the same, burnt, bleeding, scraped,
scarred, and blackened, but not seriously injured, and with a pleasant
smile upon his dirty face.