One of those great calamities which visit us once or twice, it may be,
in a century, descended upon London on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1861.
It was the sudden, and for the time, overwhelming, attack of an old and
unconquerable enemy, who found us, as usual, inadequately prepared to
meet him.
Fire has fought with us and fed upon us since we became a nation, and
yet, despite all our efforts, its flames are at this day more furious
than ever. There are more fires daily in London now than there ever
were before. Has this foe been properly met? is a question which
naturally arises out of this fact. Referring to the beautiful
organisation of the present Fire Brigade, the ability of its chiefs and
the courage of its men, the answer is, Yes, decidedly. But referring to
the strength of the brigade; to the munitions of war in the form of
water; to the means of conveyance in the form of mains; to the system of
check in the shape of an _effective_ Act in reference to partition-walls
and moderately-sized warehouses; to the means of prevention in the shape
of prohibitions and regulations in regard to inflammable substances--
referring to all these things, the answer to the question, "Has the foe
been properly met?" is emphatically, _No_.
It is not sufficient to reply that a special inquiry has been made into
this subject; that steps are being actually taken to remedy the evils of
our system (or rather of our want of system) of fire prevention. Good
may or may not result from this inquiry: that is yet to be seen.
Meanwhile, the public ought to be awakened more thoroughly to the fact
that an enemy is and always has been abroad in our land, who might be,
_if we chose_, more effectively checked; who, if he has not yet attacked
our own particular dwelling, may take us by surprise any day when we
least expect him, and who does at all times very materially diminish our
national wealth and increase our public burdens. Perhaps we should not
style _fire_ an enemy, but a mutinous servant, who does his work
faithfully and well, except when neglected or abused!
About five o'clock on Saturday afternoon intelligence of the outbreak of
fire in Tooley Street reached the headquarters of the brigade in Watling
Street.
Fire in Tooley Street! The mere summons lent energy to the nerves and
spring to the muscles of the firemen. Not that Tooley Street in itself
is more peculiarly dangerous in regard to fire than are the other
streets of shops in the City. But Tooley Street lies in dangerous
neighbourhood. The streets between it and the Thames, and those lying
immediately to the west of it, contain huge warehouses and bonded
stores, which are filled to suffocation with the "wealth of nations."
Dirty streets and narrow lanes here lead to the fountain-head of wealth
untold--almost inconceivable. The elegant filigree-work of West End
luxury may here be seen unsmelted, as it were, and in the ore. At the
same time the rich substances on which fire feeds and fattens are stored
here in warehouses which (as they are) should never have been built, and
in proximities which should never have been permitted. Examine the
wharves--Brooks' Wharf, Beal's Wharf, Cotton's Wharf, Chamberlain's
Wharf, Freeman's Wharf, Griffin's Wharf, Stanton's Wharf, and others.
Investigate the lanes--Hay's Lane, Mill Lane, Morgan's Lane; and the
streets--Bermondsey, Dockhead, Pickle Herring Street, Horsleydown, and
others--and there, besides the great deposit and commission warehouses
which cover acres of ground, and are filled from basement to ridge-pole
with the commodities and combustibles of every clime, you will find huge
granaries and stores of lead, alum, drugs, tallow, chicory, flour, rice,
biscuit, sulphur, and saltpetre, mingled with the warehouses of
cheese-agents, ham-factors, provision merchants, tarpaulin-dealers, oil
and colour merchants, etcetera. In fact, the entire region seems laid
out with a view to the raising of a bonfire or a pyrotechnic display on
the grandest conceivable scale.
Little wonder, then, that the firemen of Watling Street turned out all
their engines, including two of Shand and Mason's new land-steam
fire-engines, which had at that time just been brought into action.
Little wonder that the usual request for a man from each station was
changed into an urgent demand for every man that could possibly be
spared.
The fire began in the extensive wharves and warehouses known as Cotton's
Wharf, near London Bridge, and was first observed in a warehouse over a
counting-room by some workmen, who at once gave the alarm, and attempted
to extinguish it with some buckets of water. They were quickly driven
back, however, by the suffocating smoke, which soon filled the various
floors so densely that no one could approach the seat of the fire.
Mr Braidwood, who was early on the spot, saw at a glance that a pitched
battle was about to be fought, and, like a wise general, concentrated
all the force at his command. Expresses were sent for the more distant
brigade engines, and these came dashing up, one after another, at full
speed. The two powerful steam floating-engines which guard the Thames
from fire were moored off the wharf, two lengths of hose attached to
them, and led on shore and brought to bear on the fire. A number of
land-engines took up a position in Tooley Street, ready for action, but
these were compelled to remain idle for nearly an hour _before water was
obtainable from the fire-plugs_. O London! with all your wealth and
wisdom, how strange that such words can be truly written of you!
The vessels which were lying at the wharf discharging and loading were
hauled out of danger into the stream.
In course of time the engines were in full play, but the warehouse burst
into flames from basement to roof in spite of them, and ere long eight
of the great storehouses were burning furiously. The flames made rapid
work of it, progressing towards the line of warehouses facing the river,
and to the lofty building which adjoined on the Tooley Street side.
Dale and his men were quickly on the scene of action, and had their
engine soon at work. Before long, Frank Willders joined them. They
were playing in at the windows of a large store, which was burning so
furiously that the interior appeared to be red-hot.
"Relieve Corney, lad," said Dale, as Frank came forward.
"Och, it's time!" cried Corney, delivering up the branch to Frank and
Moxey; "sure Baxmore and me are melted intirely."
Frank made no reply. He and Moxey directed the branch which the others
resigned, turning their backs as much as possible on the glowing fire,
and glancing at it over their shoulders; for it was too hot to be faced.
Just then the Chief of the brigade came up.
"It's of no use, sir," said Dale; "we can't save these."
"True, Dale, true," said Mr Braidwood, in a quick, but quiet tone;
"this block is doomed. Take your lads round to the nor'-east corner; we
must try to prevent it spreading."
As he surveyed the progress of the fire, with a cool, practical eye, and
hurried off to another part of the battle-field to post his men to best
advantage, little did the leader of the forces think that he was to be
the first to fall that day!
Engines were now playing on the buildings in all directions; but the
flames were so fierce that they made no visible impression on them, and
even in the efforts made to check their spreading, little success
appeared to attend them at first. Warehouse after warehouse ignited.
To make matters worse, a fresh breeze sprang up, and fanned the flames
into redoubled fury; so that they quickly caught hold of vast portions
of the premises occupied by the firm of Scovell and Company.
"There's not a chance," said Frank to Dale, while he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead, and sat down for a few seconds to
recover breath; for he had just issued from a burning building, driven
back by heat and smoke--
"There's not a chance of saving that block; all the iron doors that were
meant to keep the fire from spreading have been left open by the
workmen!"
"Chance or no chance, we must do our best," said Dale. "Come, lad, with
me; I think we may get at a door inside the next warehouse, through
which we might bring the branch to bear. Are you able?"
"All right," exclaimed Frank, leaping up, and following his leader
through the smoke.
"Have a care!" cried Frank, pausing as a tremendous explosion caused the
ground to tremble under their feet.
"It's sulphur or saltpetre," said Dale, pushing on; "there are tons upon
tons of that stuff in the cellars all round."
This was indeed the case. It was said that upwards of 2,000 tons of
saltpetre were in the vaults at the time; and several explosions had
already taken place, though fortunately, without doing injury to any
one.
Dale had already partially examined the warehouse, into which he now led
Frank; and, therefore, although it was full of smoke, he moved rapidly
along the narrow and intricate passages between the bales of goods,
until he reached an iron door.
"Here it is; we'll open this and have a look," he said, grasping the
handle and swinging the heavy door open.
Instantly, a volume of black smoke drove both the men back, almost
suffocating them. They could not speak; but each knew that the
re-closing of that iron door was all-important, for the fire had got
nearer to it than Dale had imagined.
They both darted forward; but were again driven back, and had to rush to
the open air for breath. Frank recovered before his comrade, in
consequence of the latter having made a more strenuous and prolonged
effort to close the door which he had so unfortunately opened.
Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang into the warehouse again;
regained and partially closed the door, when the stifling smoke choked
him, and he fell to the ground. A few seconds later, Dale followed him,
and found him there. Applying his great strength with almost superhuman
energy to the door, it shut with a crash, and the communication between
the buildings was cut off! Dale then seized Frank by the collar, and
dragged him into the open air, when he himself almost sank to the
ground. Fresh air, however, soon restored them both, and in a few
minutes they were actively engaged at another part of the building.
Bravely and perseveringly though this was done, it availed not, for
nothing could withstand the fury of the fire. The warehouse caught, and
was soon a glowing mass like the others, while the flames raged with
such violence that their roaring drowned the shouting of men, and the
more distant roar of the innumerable multitude that densely covered
London Bridge, and clustered on every eminence from which a safe view of
the great fire could be obtained.
The floating fire-engines had now been at work for some time, and the
men in charge of their branches were suffering greatly from the intense
heat. About this time, nearly seven o'clock in the evening, Mr
Braidwood went to these men to give them a word of encouragement. He
proceeded down one of the approaches to the river from Tooley Street,
and stopped when nearly half way to give some directions, when a sudden
and tremendous explosion, took place, shaking the already tottering
walls, which at this place were of great height. A cry was raised,
"Run! the wall is falling!" Every one sprang away at the word. The
wall bulged out at the same time; and one of the firemen, seeing that
Mr Braidwood was in imminent danger, made a grasp at him as he was
springing from the spot; but the heavy masses of brick-work dashed him
away, and, in another moment, the gallant chief of the Fire Brigade lay
buried under at least fifteen feet of burning ruin.
Any attempt at rescue would have been impossible as well as unavailing,
for death must have been instantaneous. The hero's warfare with the
flames, which had lasted for upwards of thirty-eight years, was ended;
and his brave spirit returned to God Who gave it.
That a man of no ordinary note had fallen was proved, before many hours
had passed, by the deep and earnest feeling of sorrow and sympathy which
was manifested by all classes in London, from Queen Victoria downwards,
as well as by the public funeral which took place a few days afterwards,
at which were present the Duke of Sutherland, the Earl of Caithness, the
Reverend Doctor Cumming, and many gentlemen connected with the insurance
offices; the committee and men of the London Fire Brigade; also those of
various private and local brigades; the secretary and conductors of the
Royal Society for the Protection of Life from Fire; the mounted
Metropolitan and City police; the London Rifle Brigade (of which Mr
Braidwood's three sons were members); the superintendents and men of the
various water companies; and a long string of private and mourning
carriages: to witness the progress of which hundreds of thousands of
people densely crowded the streets and clustered in the windows and on
every available eminence along the route; while in Cheapside almost all
the shops were shut and business was suspended; and in the neighbourhood
of Shoreditch toiling thousands of artisans came forth from factory and
workshop to "see the last of Braidwood," whose name had been so long
familiar to them as a "household word." The whole heart of London
seemed to have been moved by one feeling, and the thousands who thronged
the streets "had" (in the language of one of the papers of the day)
"gathered together to witness the funeral, not of a dead monarch, not of
a great warrior, not of a distinguished statesman, not even of a man
famous in art, in literature, or in science, but simply of James
Braidwood, late superintendent of the London Fire-Engine
Establishment"--a true hero, and one who was said, by those who knew him
best, to be an earnest Christian man.
But at the moment of his fall his men were engaged in the thick of
battle. Crushing though the news of his death was, there was no
breathing time to realise it.
The fierce heat had not only driven back the firemen on shore, but had
compelled the floating fire-engines to haul off, in consequence of the
flaming matter which poured over the wharf wall and covered the surface
of the river the entire length of the burning warehouses; while the
whole of the carriageway of Tooley Street was ankle deep in hot oil and
tallow. After the fall of their Chief, Messrs. Henderson and Fogo, two
of the principal officers of the brigade, did their utmost to direct the
energies of the men.
Night closed in, and the flames continued to rage in all their fury and
magnificence. News of this great fire spread with the utmost rapidity
over the metropolis. Indeed, it was visible at Hampstead while it was
yet daylight. When darkness set in, one of the most extraordinary
scenes that London ever produced was witnessed. From all quarters the
people came pouring in, on foot, in omnibus, cab, pleasure-van, cart,
and waggon--all converging to London Bridge. At nine o'clock the bridge
and its approaches presented all the appearance of the Epsom Road on the
Derby Day. Cabs and 'buses plied backwards and forwards on the bridge
all night, carrying an unlimited number of passengers at 2 pence and 3
pence each, and thousands of persons spent the night in thus passing to
and fro. The railway terminus, Billingsgate Market, the roof of the
Coal Exchange, the Monument, the quays, the windows, the house-tops, the
steeples, and the chimney-stalks--all were crowded with human beings,
whose eager upturned faces were rendered intensely bright against the
surrounding darkness by the fierce glare of the fire. But the Thames
presented the most singular appearance of all--now reflecting on its
bosom the inky black clouds of smoke; anon the red flames, as fresh fuel
was licked up by the devouring element, and, occasionally, sheets of
silver light that flashed through the chaos when sulphur and saltpetre
explosions occurred. Mountains of flame frequently burst away from the
mass of burning buildings and floated upward for a few moments, and the
tallow and tar which flowed out of the warehouses floated away blazing
with the tide and set the shipping on fire, so that land and water alike
seemed to be involved in one huge terrific conflagration.
The utmost consternation prevailed on board the numerous craft on the
river in the vicinity of the fire, for thick showers of sparks and
burning materials fell incessantly. Gusts of wind acted on the ruins
now and then, and at such moments the gaunt walls, cracked and riven out
of shape, stood up, glowing with intense white heat in the midst of a
sea of fire from which red flames and dark clouds of smoke were vomited,
as from the crater of some mighty volcano, with a roar that mingled with
the shouts of excited thousands, and drowned even the dull incessant
thumpings of the engines that worked in all directions.
Moored alongside of Chamberlain's Wharf was a small sloop. Little blue
blisters of light broke out on her rigging; soon these increased in
size, and in a few minutes she was on fire from stem to stern.
Immediately after, there came a barge with flowing sails, borne on the
rising tide. She passed too near to the conflagration. Her crew of
three men became panic-stricken and lost control of her. At sight of
this a great shout was raised, and a boat put off and rescued the crew;
but almost before they were landed their barge was alight from stem to
stern. The tremendous cheer that burst from the excited multitude at
sight of this rescue rose for a moment above the roaring of the
conflagration. Then another barge was set on fire by the blazing tallow
which floated out to her, but she was saved by being scuttled.
In the midst of such a scene it was to be expected that there would be
damage to life and limb. The firemen, besides being exposed to intense
heat for hours, were almost blinded and choked by the smoke emitted from
the burning pepper--more especially the cayenne--of which there was a
large quantity in the warehouses. Some of the men who were working the
engines fell into the river and were drowned. A gentleman who was
assisting the firemen had his hand impaled on an iron spike. A poor
Irishman had his neck broken by the chain of the floating-engine, and
several of the police force and others were carried to hospital badly
burned and otherwise injured.
Some of the casualties occurred in places where only a few persons were
there to witness them, but others were enacted on the river, and on
spots which were in full view of the vast multitudes on London Bridge.
A boat containing five men put off to collect the tallow which floated
on the water, but it got surrounded by tallow which had caught fire, and
the whole of its occupants were either burned to death or drowned.
Later in the night a small skiff rowed by a single man was drawn by the
tide into the vortex of the fire. Another boat ran out and saved the
man, but a second boat which was pulled off by a single rower for the
same purpose was drawn too near the fire, and its brave occupant
perished. So eager were the multitude on the bridge to witness these
scenes that some of themselves were forced over the parapet into the
river and drowned.
Comical incidents were strangely mingled with these awful scenes,
although it is but justice to say the prevailing tone of the crowd was
one of solemnity. Itinerant vendors of ginger-beer, fruit, cakes, and
coffee ranged themselves along the pavements and carried on a brisk
trade--especially after the public-houses were closed, many of which,
however, taking advantage of the occasion, kept open door all night.
Among these last was the "Angel," belonging to Gorman.
That worthy was peculiarly active on this occasion. He never neglected
an opportunity of turning an honest penny, and, accordingly, had been
engaged from an early hour in his boat collecting tallow; of which
plunder a considerable amount had been already conveyed to his abode.
Besides Gorman, several of the other personages of our tale found their
way to the great centre of attraction, London Bridge, on that night.
Among them was John Barret, who, on hearing of the fire, had left his
snug little villa and pretty little wife to witness it.
He had already made one or two cheap trips on one of the omnibuses, and,
about midnight, got down and forced his way to a position near the south
side of the bridge. Here he was attracted to a ginger-beer barrow which
an unusually adventurous man had pushed through the crowd into a
sheltered corner. He forced his way to it, and, to his amazement, found
the owner to be his former friend Ned Hooper.
"Hallo! Barret."
"Why, Ned!" were the exclamations that burst simultaneously from their
lips.
"This is a strange occupation," said Barret with a smile.
"Ah, it may seem strange to you, no doubt, but it's familiar enough to
me," replied Ned, with a grin.
The demand for beer was so great at this time that Ned could not
continue the conversation.
"Here, boy," he said to an urchin who stood near, "you draw corks as
fast as you can and pour out the beer, and I'll give you a copper or two
and a swig into the bargain."
The boy accepted the post of salesman with alacrity, and Ned turned to
his friend and seized his hand.
"Barret," said he, in a low, earnest voice, "if I succeed in holding
out, I own my salvation, under God, to you. I've tasted nothing but
ginger-beer for many a long day, and I really believe that I have got my
enemy down at last. It's not a lucrative business, as you may see," he
added with a sad smile, glancing at his threadbare garments, "nor a very
aristocratic one."
"My dear Ned," cried Barret, interrupting, and suddenly thrusting his
hand into his pocket.
"No, Barret, no," said Ned firmly, as he laid his hand on the other's,
arm; "I don't want money; I've given up begging. You gave me your
advice once, and I have taken that--it has been of more value to me than
all the wealth that is being melted into thin air, John, by yonder
fire--"
Ned was interrupted at this point by a burst of laughter from the crowd.
The cause of their mirth was the appearance of a tall, thin, and very
lugubrious-looking man who had come on the bridge to see the fire. He
had got so excited that he had almost fallen over the parapet, and a
policeman had kindly offered to escort him to a place of safety.
"Why, what d'ye mean?--what d'ye take me for?" cried the tall man
angrily; "I'm an honest man; my name is David Boone; I've only come to
see the fire; you've no occasion to lay hold o' _me_!"
"I know that," said the policeman; "I only want to get you out of
danger. Come along now."
Just then a thickset man with a red handkerchief tied round his head
came forward to the stall and demanded a glass of beer. The moment his
eyes encountered those of Boone he became pale as death and staggered
back as if he had received a deadly blow.
"Is that you, Gorman?" cried David, in a voice and with an expression of
amazement.
Gorman did not reply, but gazed at his former friend with a look of
intense horror, while his chest heaved and he breathed laboriously.
Suddenly he uttered a loud cry and rushed towards the river.
Part of the crowd sprang after him, as if with a view to arrest him, or
to see what he meant to do. In the rush Barret and Boone were carried
away.
A few moments later a deep murmur of surprise rose from the thousands of
spectators on the bridge, for a boat was seen to dash suddenly from the
shore and sweep out on the river. It was propelled by a single rower--a
man with a red kerchief tied round his head. The murmur of the crowd
suddenly increased to a shout of alarm, for the man was rowing, his boat
straight towards a mass of tallow which floated and burned on the water.
"Hold on!" "Lookout ahead!" shouted several voices, while others
screamed "Too late!" "He's gone!" and then there arose a wild cry, for
the man rowed straight into the centre of the burning mass and was
enveloped in the flames. For one moment he was seen to rise and swing
his arms in the air--then he fell backwards over the gunwale of his boat
and disappeared in the blazing flood.
Fiercer and fiercer raged the fire. The night passed--the day came and
went, and night again set in--yet still the flames leaped and roared in
resistless fury, and still the firemen fought them valiantly. And thus
they fought, day and night, hand to hand, for more than a fortnight,
before the battle was thoroughly ended and the victory gained.
How the firemen continued to do their desperate work, day and night,
almost without rest, it is impossible to tell. Frank Willders said
that, after the first night, he went about his work like a man in a
dream. He scarcely knew when, or how, or where he rested or ate. He
had an indistinct remembrance of one or two brief intervals of oblivion
when he supposed he must have been asleep, but the only memory that
remained strong and clear within him was that of constant, determined
fighting with the flames. And Willie Willders followed him like his
shadow! clad in a coat and helmet borrowed from a friend in the Salvage
Corps. Willie fought in that great fight as if he had been a trained
fireman.
On the fourth day, towards evening, Frank was ordered down into a cellar
where some tar-barrels were burning. He seized the branch, and was
about to leap down the stair when Dale stopped him.
"Fasten the rope to your belt," he said.
Frank obeyed without speaking and then sprang forward, while Dale
himself followed, ordering Corney, Baxmore, and one or two others, to
hold on to the ropes. Willie Willders also ran in, but was met by such
a dense cloud of smoke that he was almost choked. Rushing back, he
shouted, "Haul on the ropes!"
The men were already hauling them in, and in a few seconds Dale and
Frank were dragged by their waist-belts into the open air, the former
nearly, and the latter quite, insensible.
In a few minutes they both recovered, and another attempt was made to
reach the fire in the cellar, but without success.
The public did not witness this incident. The firemen were almost
surrounded by burning ruins, and none but comrades were there.
Indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers to which the fireman
is exposed. It is not when he makes his appearance on some giddy height
on a burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusiastically by the
crowd, that his courage is most severely tried. It is when he has to
creep on hands and knees through dense smoke, and hold the branch in the
face of withering heat, while beams are cracking over his head, and
burning rubbish is dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him--it
is in such circumstances, when the public know nothing of what is going
on, and when no eye sees him save that of the solitary comrade who
shares his toil and danger, that the fireman's nerve and endurance are
tested to the uttermost.
After leaving the cellar, Dale and his men went to attempt to check the
fire in a quarter where it threatened to spread, and render this--the
greatest of modern conflagrations--equal to the great one of 1666.
"We might reach it from that window," said Dale to Frank, pointing to a
house, the sides of which were already blistering, and the glass
cracking with heat.
Frank seized the branch and gained the window in question, but could not
do anything very effective from that point. He thought, however, that
from a window in an adjoining store he might play directly on a house
which was in imminent danger. But the only means of reaching it was by
passing over a charred beam, thirty feet beneath which lay a mass of
smouldering ruins. For one moment he hesitated, uncertain whether or
not the beam would sustain his weight. But the point to be gained was
one of great importance, so he stepped boldly forward, carrying the
branch with him. As he advanced, the light of the fire fell brightly
upon him, revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which cheered
him heartily.
At that moment the beam gave way. Willie, who was about to follow, had
barely time to spring back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld his
brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below.
In another moment he had leaped down the staircase, and was at Frank's
side. Baxmore, Dale, Corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of
fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their arms and bore him to
a place of safety.
No one spoke, but a stretcher was quickly brought, and Frank was
conveyed in a state of insensibility to the nearest hospital, where his
manly form--shattered, burned, and lacerated--was laid on a bed. He
breathed, although he was unconscious and evinced no sign of feeling
when the surgeons examined his wounds.
A messenger was despatched for Mrs Willders, and Willie remained to
watch beside him while his comrades went out to continue the fight.