big structures filled with many firemen, on an average about 140 men in
every building; and each station is equipped with numerous pieces of
fire apparatus, and all are provided with a large inner court, or
drill-yard, in which the men go through military evolutions twice
daily, and where the new men, who are coming into the brigade
continually, are taught how to handle all the various appliances used
in fire-fighting. Here also the men are put through a series of
calisthenic exercises two or three times a week, which, if introduced
into the American fire-departments, would drive every man out of the
service, so vigorous are these "stunts." In acrobatic fashion the Paris
firemen are compelled to climb ropes, jump hurdles, balance themselves
in mid-air on frail wooden supports, perform on horizontal bars,
execute a kind of "setting-up" drill en masse, and last, but not least,
climb up one of the walls of the courtyard, holding on by their
finger-tips and the edges of their boots to little crevices in the
wall, and falling, if they should slip, into a pile of sand at the
bottom. In addition to all this they have the regulation hose, ladder,
and life-saving drills of all other fire-departments.
The Paris fire stations are thoroughly up to date in equipment, for we
find them fitted with sliding-poles, swinging-harness, horses kept in
box-stalls within a pole's-length of the harness, automatic
door-openers, and virtually every quick-hitching device for which
American fire-departments are noted. And in addition to steam
fire-engines, aërial ladder-trucks, and hose-wagons--the latter very
much of the same type as those used in this country--there are a great
many automobile fire-engines in service, and quite a few of the
_casernes_, or stations, are equipped entirely with motor-driven
apparatus. There are also several electric fire-engines in use,
practical-looking affairs, carrying a large square tank containing four
hundred gallons of water, which is given the necessary pressure to
reach the top of any of the buildings by means of an ingenious set of
electric pumps placed at the back of the tank. As it only requires a
few men to handle this engine, and the mere throwing over of a lever to
get it under way, it is used at many small fires, and is sometimes the
first and only piece of apparatus to leave a station in answer to an
alarm, for there is no regular "assignment" of engines and
ladder-trucks sent to the alarm-boxes in Paris, as is the case in our
cities, and the operation of their fire-alarm system differs from that
of any other city in the world.
The fire-alarm boxes are large, ornate-looking affairs, placed on the
corners of the principal boulevards and streets and in the public
squares, and directions on the outside of these boxes inform you that,
in addition to breaking the glass door (which automatically transmits
the number of the box to the nearest fire station), you must also use
the telephone inside and give a description of the fire, its character,
size, and location (street number if possible); and it is necessary to
go through all this proceeding before the sending of an alarm is
considered complete. This alarm is received in the alarm- or
"watch-room," of the nearest fire station. There an operator picks up a
telephone receiver and listens for your description of the fire, and he
decides, according to the message received, the number of pieces and
character of the apparatus which is to answer the alarm. For example,
if it is only a small fire--a window-curtain or a chimney--he simply
orders out one piece of apparatus, an electric engine, such as was
described above, or, perhaps, a _fourgon_--a sort of hose-wagon
carrying a squad of men, short ladders, hose, and tools and appliances
of all kinds. If, on the other hand, the call comes from a factory or a
tenement district, where rescue work may be expected, he then sends two
wagon-loads of men and the _grande-echelle_ (aërial ladder-truck), and
if the fire appears dangerous, from the telephoned description, another
ladder-truck and a steam fire-engine, or a motor-engine; but the
engines are rarely used in Paris, as the water-pressure throughout the
city is very fine, sufficient to reach the top of the average building;
and the steamers are only sent out as a precaution, and are seldom put
to work.
The fire-hydrants in Paris, as in every other city in Europe, are of
the "flush" or sunken character, instead of the post-hydrants used in
our cities, and are found in depressed basins in the sidewalk, near the
curb, protected with iron covers; and the location of these hydrants is
carefully indicated by metal signs on the walls of the buildings near
by, which not only point out the exact position of each hydrant, but
tell the amount of water pressure to be found at that outlet--a feature
that our firemen would welcome.
All gas or electricity entering any building in Paris comes partially
under the control of the fire-brigade, and the firemen carry keys on
every piece of apparatus which enables them to open a small metal
plate, always found at a certain spot in the sidewalks, and thus cut
off either the gas or electric service from the building immediately on
their arrival at a fire.
But in addition to this very sensible supervision of the gas and
electric service by the fire-brigade, the Paris firemen have the added
protection in their work of a very effective type of "smoke-helmet," a
device which is also used largely by the fire-brigades of Berlin,
Dresden, Vienna, Milan, and several other cities in Europe. This is a
metal helmet fastening securely around the neck of the fireman wearing
it, and connected by means of an endless hose-pipe, with a portable
air-pump kept out in the street and in charge of a fellow-fireman, who
controls the amount of fresh air reaching the head-piece. It is claimed
that, protected with this device, a fireman can enter a heavily
smoke-charged building and work for quite a while in comparative
comfort. We carry a smoke-helmet on nearly all the fire apparatus in
this country, somewhat similar to the European appliance, but without
the independent air-pump attachment. It is rarely used, however, as our
firemen claim that it is unreliable, and hampers rather than aids them
in their work. But among the foreign firemen the smoke-helmet is
considered a valuable protection, and is used frequently.
Among other interesting appliances which the Paris firemen have found
of great assistance to them in their work there may be mentioned a
portable electric search-light, carried like an ordinary hand-lantern,
fitted with a powerful storage battery, and producing a very intense,
and, of course, a thoroughly safe light. It is used largely for night
work or in dark, smoky cellars. Also a large hand-carried electric fan,
which can be operated by hydraulic power as well as electricity, using
the pressure from the street hydrants for this purpose; and this fan
has been found useful for clearing rooms or hallways of heavy smoke or
poisonous vapors.
Paris, with a population of 2,750,000 souls, has about 1800 fires every
year, and spends, annually, $575,000 to support her fire-brigade, an
organization of some eighteen hundred men which can be turned into the
field as two battalions of infantry at short notice. Therefore this
expenditure might be said to provide two kinds of protection--military
as well as civic. But splendid building laws and equally excellent laws
covering the use and storage of explosives and inflammable materials of
all kinds, have made the work of her firemen a comparatively easy one,
and the large fire is of such rare occurrence in this famous city that
the "French Pompier," using methods which appear very amusing to
American visitors, is enabled to make a most satisfactory yearly
showing to his Minister of War.
In Berlin, and in virtually every other German city, the fire-brigade
is managed upon almost the same general plan as the brigades found in
London and Paris, and the apparatus, in nearly every instance of German
manufacture, is very similar to that used by the English and French
firemen. The men are all husky fellows, well drilled and military in
appearance, and the majority are ex-soldiers, as preference is given to
men who have seen army service in recruiting new members for the
brigade. The fire stations are usually very large, sometimes occupying
as much space as would be covered by an entire block in an American
city, and nearly all of the stations are built in rectangular form,
with a spacious inner court, or drill-yard, in the middle. On one side
of this yard will be found the engines, ladder-trucks, etc., housed in
individual compartments, or barns, and on the other the stables for the
horses; while the upper part of the building on both sides is occupied
as dormitories or lounging-rooms for the men, and quarters for the
officers. Every station has its own fire alarm-bureau, or "watch-room,"
looked after by an officer and two or three operators. The "turnout" in
answer to an alarm in a German fire station is very similar to an
artillery drill, and is performed in the same stiff, almost automatic,
manner, for the brigades are conducted on strict military lines.
The men in these stations are divided into little squads, each
commanded by a petty officer, or _Oberfeuerwehrmann_, as he is called,
and each squad placed in charge of a separate piece of apparatus. When
an alarm strikes in the "watch-room," a bell is started ringing in the
quarters of the men, which sends them clattering down the long flight
of stairs in their heavy leather boots, while they hastily adjust
coats, belts, and helmets. Reaching the yard, each squad breaks up into
two detachments, two men, the driver and his aide, running to the
stable for the horses, the rest for their respective pieces of
apparatus. The doors of the apparatus barns are thrown open, and the
engines, ladder-trucks, and wagons are found standing there with poles
detached, the latter lying on the floor directly under each machine. At
a command given by the petty officer the pole is lifted up, shoved back
in its socket, and the king-pin dropped into place. The men then jump
back to the wheels at each side, and at another command the apparatus
is pushed out into the yard. By this time, the horses, fully harnessed,
have been brought over from the stables by the other two men, and are
backed into position beside the pole, the traces and pole-straps are
locked, and at another command from the petty officer the driver and
the rest of the men jump into their places on top of the apparatus, and
salute the _Brandmeister_, or commanding officer, of the station. This
official, leisurely getting into a six-seated wagon with his associate
officers, then gives the order to "go," and, headed by the wagon
containing the chief and his aides, the procession dashes out through
the arched driveway into the main thoroughfare, thus completing an
exhibition which, when witnessed by Americans, usually provokes a
laugh. And when I add that upon the receipt of an alarm in the
"watch-room" the location of the box is written down on a large yellow
paper blank, bearing the word "Feuer!" at its top; that this blank is
folded carefully and sent down to the apparatus floor by means of a
small hand-lift, or elevator; that it is taken therefrom by the
commanding officer and read deliberately before he steps into his
_feuer-wagon_, it will be seen that the Germans believe in attending to
everything, even a call as urgent as an alarm of fire, in a thoroughly
official and dignified manner. But in Berlin much of this military
detail and pomp has been done away with, and, aided by swinging-harness
and many other quick-hitching devices, the firemen make a more rapid
exit in answer to a call. And once in the streets, they cover the
ground at great speed, for the engines are light and the horses
splendid, and every one, even the Kaiser himself, gives a clear field
to the _Feuerwehr_.
It costs the Berliners, with not quite the population of Paris,
$485,000 a year to maintain their excellent fire-brigade, excellent
because the fire loss in this royal city is hardly more than a fifth of
that in New York. But much of this remarkably low loss in the German
capital is due to the careful work of the brigade in preventing any
damage to property other than that caused by the actual extinguishment
of the fire. As an example of the conscientious way in which the Berlin
firemen attend to their labors, it may be explained that, at fires in
the residential districts, where it is found possible to confine the
fire to some one room, tarpaulins, or waterproof covers, are spread
over the stairs and through the halls before the hose is brought into
the house, and no windows are broken unless absolutely necessary. When
our buildings are all as excellent as theirs, and our citizens are all
working as harmoniously together to prevent fire, we may find it safe
to adopt some of the deliberate and careful methods of the German
firemen.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DUTCH CHEESES
BY H. M. SMITH
Among the daintiest and best of the numerous kinds of foreign and
domestic cheeses that may be bought in nearly every American city and
town, are the small round cheeses with red or yellow coats which come
to our markets from Holland. The ancient town of Edam, on the shore of
the Zuyder Zee, has given its name to this product, and almost
everywhere in America we ask for Edam cheese when we want this
particular kind; but while Edam produces Edam cheese, this sleepy
little town long ago ceased to hold a high place in the cheese world,
and neighboring towns now monopolize the trade in this article, which
holds a leading place in the farm products of Holland.
The most extensive and celebrated of the cheese-markets is that of
Alkmaar, which has the commercial advantage of being located on a
railroad as well as on the North Holland Canal. Every visitor to the
Netherlands should arrange to spend at least one day at Alkmaar, easily
reached from Amsterdam or Haarlem.
In Dutch history, Alkmaar is celebrated for its successful defense when
besieged by the Spaniards in 1573, but in modern times it has been
noted for its cheese trade, which is now its principal attraction.
The market is held every Friday; but in order to observe all of its
features, a visitor should go to Alkmaar the day before, and see the
preliminary preparations. The market-place is a large stone-paved space
in the open air, with business houses on three sides, a canal on the
fourth side, and a weigh-house at one end. During Thursday the dairymen
from the surrounding country arrive with their families and their
cheeses, coming in carts, wagons, and canal-boats; and by the afternoon
of that day, there is a great bustle, which continues far into the
evening.
Throughout the night bands of young peasants, both men and women,
parade the streets of Alkmaar, singing and skylarking; and cheese-carts
continue to arrive and clatter along the stony streets, so that little
sleep is possible for the residents and visitors.
An essential part of the cheese-market is the official weigh-house,
which was built more than three centuries ago, out of an already
existing church. Its shapely clock-tower has moving figures of horsemen
in a tourney, and a beautiful set of chimes, one of whose airs is the
well-known wedding march from Wagner's "Lohengrin." In the main room on
the ground floor are four huge balances which, before the opening of
the market, are carefully adjusted with much ceremony by an official in
silk hat and frock-coat.
When the cheeses are on their way to market from the farms, they are
handled with great care, so as to prevent bruising or crushing; and
whether in wagons or boats, they are arranged in layers separated by
light boards. As the wagons and boats arrive at the market-place,
spaces are assigned to them, and the unloading begins, the cheeses
being arranged in regular square or oblong piles on pieces of canvas,
with narrow walks between. The size of the piles depends on the number
of cheeses the individual farmers have to dispose of, but usually the
piles are eight to ten cheeses wide, thirty to fifty long, and always
two layers deep. At the market attended by the writer, the largest pile
contained nine hundred cheeses.
The unloading of the wagons and boats is one of the most interesting
sights of the market. Standing in a wagon or boat, one man takes a
cheese in each hand and throws them to another man, sitting or kneeling
on the ground, who arranges the cheeses in regular piles. Long practice
has made the farmers very skilful in tossing and catching; the cheeses
go through the air in pairs as though tied together, and may be thrown
as far as thirty feet. During very active times, the yellow balls are
flying thickly in all directions.
As soon as a farmer has arranged his stock of cheeses, he covers the
piles with canvas, and often also with rush mats, grass, or straw, in
order to protect them from sun or rain, and to prevent the drying of
the surface. Before the sale, the venders liberally anoint the cheeses
with oil to make them look fresh and inviting.
Shortly before ten o'clock a large number of aged porters meet in a
room of the weigh-house, and soon emerge dressed in scrupulously clean
white trousers and shirts, with black slippers and straw hats. The hats
are of blue, green, yellow, red, or other bright colors, with ribbons
of the same shade hanging down behind; and the men wearing the same
colors work together in pairs.
Promptly as the clock in the weigh-house tower strikes the hour of ten,
the cheese-market formally opens. The covers are removed from the piles
of cheeses, and the whole market-place literally bursts into bloom.
Sales are preceded by much bargaining, and the cheeses are felt,
smelled, and tasted. When a price is agreed upon for a particular lot,
the buyer and the seller clasp hands; and then, the half-hour having
struck, the porters begin their labors, which consist in carrying to
the weigh-house loads of cheeses on sled-like trays suspended from
their shoulders by long straps, receiving a check from the master of
the scales, and returning their certified fares to the owners, who thus
have a basis for determining the aggregate weight and value of each lot
sold.
So rapidly do the selling and weighing proceed that by eleven o'clock
the market is virtually over. Then the cheeses are removed to the
warehouses of the purchasing merchants, the farmers depart in their
boats and wagons, and when the grand noonday burst of the chimes comes
the Alkmaar cheese-market exists only as a memory.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A GEOGRAPHY CITY "COME ALIVE"
BY LINDAMIRA HARBESON
During the Great War, when the armies of Europe were trying to beat
their way into Constantinople, this city, which once had been to us
merely a black dot in our geographies, suddenly became very real. We
used to know it as a point somewhere in the lower right-hand corner of
the map, where Europe is separated from Asia by several annoying little
bodies of water that were so hard for us to remember. But when I tell
you that I ate a bag of peanuts while going in a ferry-boat to
Constantinople from Scutari, the little Asiatic village just opposite,
you will understand the width of the Bosporus better, perhaps, than
your geography can tell you.
The photograph presents a good general view of the city as seen from
the Galata side; and shows clearly Santa Sophia and the Golden Horn
which divides in two parts this ancient and famous metropolis of the
Ottoman Empire. From the roof of the American College buildings, which
are on a hill in Scutari, we can look directly across toward the mouth
of the Golden Horn.
Stamboul is the old part of the city, where many different peoples have
dwelt--first Greeks, then Romans, now Turks, and you can still see by a
bit of a house or an old wall how these people lived. Galata is where
English, French, Italians, and Germans carry on their business in
Turkey, and where the big boats unload their cargoes. Between Galata
and Stamboul is one of the most famous and most crowded bridges in the
world. Pera is where most of the Europeans live.
Constantinople is indeed like the fairy city in the Arabian Nights to
which the poor brothers are whisked away on a carpet--a dream city on
the edge of the water--a city of lavender-blue domes, and minarets that
seem to reach to the sky. We are just aware of the little houses
straggling up the hill or dipping their feet in the water. The maze of
houses and the mosques are veiled in a light blue haze, just as if the
city, like the women, had to wear the _yachmak_, or head-covering. Off
beyond is the glistening Sea of Marmora, and near by, the dazzling blue
waters of the Bosporus dotted with little black boats. The city
stretches on farther up the shore, and just beyond are the wooded
hills. At the foot of one of them, on the very edge of the water, is
the long low white marble palace of the sultan--Dolmah Bagtché it is
called, which means "walled-in garden."
Everybody who is young must love Constantinople. It is so full of color
and soft musical sounds that one is sure something unexpected and
wonderful will happen any moment. Nowhere in the world, perhaps, can be
seen so many different types of people as on Galata Bridge. Let us pay
ten paras--a little over one cent--and go on the bridge; we shall see
and hear more than a dollar's worth. There go modern Turkish gentlemen
dressed like our fathers, but wearing fezzes instead of hats. A fez is
made of soft red felt and has no brim; from the top hangs a black silk
tassel. Here come old-fashioned Turkish gentlemen with bent shoulders
and flowing beards. They wear soft padded overcoats of many colors, and
each is sure to have on a ring set with a beautiful stone that he keeps
turned toward the inside of his hand. There are some priests with white
scarfs round their fezzes; here are others with green ones, because
they have been to Mecca, where every pious Turk wants to go before he
dies. There are whirling dervishes in brown overcoats, and tall brown
hats shaped like chicken croquettes. Have you ever heard of dervishes?
They are priests who perform a peculiar ceremony in their religious
houses. They take off their brown overcoats and dance in green or white
costumes that have full pleated skirts. They spin round and round on
their tiptoes, accompanied by strange music, while the chiefs of the
order sit cross-legged on the floor and watch them.
Then there may pass a Tartar pilgrim all in white from the interior of
Asiatic Turkey, or a Persian in gray with a Persian-lamb fez, or a
fierce Kurd. The last is a soldier, and wears a brown hood with a long
end knotted round his head. Since the Balkan War, when many Kurds were
in Constantinople on their way to the army, the little Turkish girls
have worn the same sort of hood of soft colors and fabrics. On the
bridge, too, may be seen the shrouded Turkish ladies, who move silently
along like black ghosts. They wear the _tcharchaf_--the modern Turkish
dress which includes a veil over the face; old-fashioned women of the
poorer class still wear the soft white yachmak that covers the head but
not the face. And then, too, there are the _hamals_--wild peasants from
the interior--who do the fetching and carrying. They wear little caps
and bright sashes, and have on their backs a kind of saddle on which
they put anything from a bag of flour to a piano. They walk faster than
the rest and sing "_Dustur_, _dustur_," which means "Get out of the
road." If we are very lucky, we shall see a string of camels with their
noses in the air, and on their humps lovely faded blue and red
saddle-bags. They are usually led by a donkey, and with them is a
camel-driver of most fetching appearance. The camels are so big and
shaggy and out of place that we pinch ourselves to see if we are really
awake.
[Illustration: View of Constantinople from the Galata side]
Now let us go wandering about the old city. The narrow, silent streets
are paved with cobblestones, and lined with houses that have never been
painted, but have been colored by the sun, the rain, and the wind. Some
of them are overgrown with wistaria vines that cross from one side of
the street to the other and frame the big shut front door.